


Fire Dancing

by syredronning



Series: Draws [8]
Category: Star Trek (2009), Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Kinky, M/M, Multi, Physical Disability, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-08
Updated: 2010-09-08
Packaged: 2017-10-11 14:38:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 41,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/113512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syredronning/pseuds/syredronning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With Kirk and McCoy back in space, Pike's life is suddenly very busy. Juggling the things he has and the things he desires, he's not always sure that's a good thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fire Dancing

**Author's Note:**

> This is the sequel to [Maneuvers](http://syredronning.livejournal.com/1237317.html).
> 
> Thanks for helpful comments goes to madelf. Thanks for the wonderful beta goes to orphica. All remaining flaws are solely mine.

It's the end of the day, the sun long gone, the sky clouded and starless above San Francisco. In the night, only the main pathways between the admiralty's buildings are illuminated, leaving most of them in the dark. Very few lit windows are sprinkled over the floors, a sign that even the busiest of Starfleet are home by now, spending time with their families or preparing for their night's rest.

On the seventh floor, Pike nudges a cup of coffee (he never counts, but it must be in the dozens again) from the machine in the corridor and then walks back to his office, the door automatically locking and securing behind him when he passes through. There had been a time when his work was of interest to a few - although reviews of quality documentation would reveal interesting breaches of security and protocols, but who cares about stealing and reading them? Now, six weeks into the Borg task force at his command, he gets the distinct feeling that his life is filled with secrets he never even wanted to know about in the first hand.

The liquid in the cup shakes dangerously as he takes his place in his chair, the uniform jacket long gone, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up. He could go home, but there's nothing and nobody waiting and the reward of the long day could be enjoyed just as well right here. In the low lights of the office, the console throws a ghostly light over his keyboard. On the screen, a star map displays one little triangle edging along its middle, the signature NCC-1701 beneath it. It's top-secret information, but his adept and creative assistant offered to install this feature and he couldn't resist. Knowing where they are brings a strange feeling of home with it, just as the waiting, work-safe recording does. He starts it and leans back, legs stretched out, hands folded in his lap.

Kirk's smile comes alive on the screen: "_Hey Chris, this is our weekly news from star charting in the outer rim, the most boring mission ever. Seems we're still on Barnett's shit list. Since the outing's been all your fault, you could try to fix things a little. Not saying you've got to kiss any asses besides ours, but if that's what it needs, we're not above begging for it. It's nice to have some time for a sex life, but you know me, I like running on adrenaline, not on sleep._" Kirk stops as McCoy comes into frame from somewhere behind, and they rearrange themselves in front of the cam.

"_Hello, admiral_," McCoy says with a smile, waving at the cam. "_Don't listen to this hypocrite. Not only am I damn glad about being on a mission where I don't have to fix him up every day, he also just managed to out all of us._"

"_I didn't._"

"_You did._"

"_It doesn't count if people knew anyway,_" Kirk states. "_I mean, this is Uhura, department chief of communications, and of course she's guessed for months because first we never send communications, and then we send stuff all the time? Back and forth with an admiral we don't report to?_"

"_There's a difference between guessing and knowing. We had this meeting four days ago and Jim was early and took a sneak preview at your recording, then totally cracked up over your story how you picked up your cadet in a bar at two in the morning…._"

"_Of course it cracked me up. Must have been total déjà vu for you, Chris. Though I never tried to stab anyone, as far as I can remember. I'm more into fists, but I guess that's not her style._"

McCoy keeps talking without even batting an eye at Kirk's explanation. "_So he cracked up and Uhura and Spock came in and he couldn't stop giggling. She asked what it was about, and he blurted out, 'Oh, Chris has to this amazing new protégée that keeps him on his toes. Wonder if he'd kill me if I asked her out for a night.' And she said that you're probably used to worse from us, and Jim just giggled and agreed._"

"_At which point you –_" Kirk points at the doc – "_blushed and felt the need to declare that while we are in open relationship, not everything is fair game and especially not cadets._"

"_Didn't want Uhura to think we're running around seducing kids, dammit._"

"_Which she thinks anyway._"

"_She doesn't. Not as long as I am involved, 'cause I got morals._"

Pike leans back with a grin, wondering if and what they'd drunk before the recording because they both sound like teenagers, and if they were here now, he'd slap them. He doesn't really mind Uhura knowing about the three of them – Kirk's right, communication officers know such things anyway - but he definitely hopes his reputation will survive Kirk's inclinations to joke about sexual things. (Uhura once told Pike about the farm animal statement, and he'd never had the guts to actually ask Kirk if there was any truth to it, because he might not like the answer.)

"_Anyway, now she and Spock know and of course she cracks a joke about it once in a while, like daily, and a lot of Vulcan eyebrow dance going on next to that._"

"_Which is still your fault, Bones._"

McCoy shakes his head but gives up. Kirk grins, addressing the cam once again.

"_All right. Regarding this new Borg information – thanks a lot for sharing them with us, which was probably against some protocols, but I like to be up-to-date with the development. It's a good idea to send the Lexington into the area where you found the latest trace of the Borg, because she's rather fast and well-equipped and Captain Esteban is really good at improvising, from all I've heard. But I also got the nagging feeling that you try to keep the Enterprise out of the ball game a little, because we would've been available, too. I wonder if the Borg's specific interest in the Enterprise, to which old Spock alluded, is noted in the files._"

In front of the screen, Pike sighs a little; Kirk's got that damn good memory and Pike had never added that information to the files, although he's never quite sure why not. He'd have to deal with that particular information one day, one way or the other.

"_Speaking of Spock, I'm a little concerned about him because I haven't heard from him since our last meeting._"

McCoy's face next to Kirk visibly declares that the doc couldn't care less to hear from the old Vulcan.

"_Maybe you could find out for me if anything's wrong with him or if he's just gone back into hiding._"

A small, annoying beep suddenly chimes in, and Pike takes a moment to realize that it's an incoming call on his own console. Seeing the number, he stops the recording to accept the call.

"Hello, sweetheart," Farnham's voice comes in. "You're still in the office? You know it's past midnight on a Friday night?"

"Yes, I am. Yes, I do. What's up?"

"I'm standing with my car on the other side of the 'fleet plaza and waiting for you. Get your ass up and out. We're going to have a late dinner."

Pike rotates slightly in his chair. "You're running out of things to write in your intelligence reports? I could give you a revamp tomorrow morning."

"Does it ever occur to you that sometimes, it's just Chris the man I worry about? Who's currently trying to catch up in a few weeks all the things he missed in five years?"

"Yes, it does occur," Pike says. "It's one of the reasons I still hang out with you." He looks at the time display of the recording. "I need another ten minutes here. See you in fifteen."

"If you're not here in twenty, I'm going to call again."

"And I thought you'd come and pick me up," Pike teases him.

"Not all buildings are fair game, admiral. See you in fifteen." The line closes, Pike restarts the recording, and gets up to tidy up the office while listening to the last minutes.

Thirteen minutes later, Pike sits in Farnham's car, enjoys some fatty junk food at one-in-the-morning and ends in Farnham's bed at two, almost not thinking about all the things on his to-do lists.

*

"And then," Farnham's hands dance as he recounts the story of their morning shopping to Nat over lunch the next day, "right when we were shopping at Fernando's and Chris tried on these fantastic pants -"

"And your hands were all over my ass in public –" Pike states sourly.

"- he stumbles over his protégée. You should've seen him. I thought his eyes would fall off."

"I bet she heard how you wondered about the cams in the changing cubicles. I'd like to keep the remaining pieces of my authority intact, John, thank you very much."

"Ah, she'll survive," Natasha says and winks. "So you've seen her, John? Tell me about her. Chris doesn't want to share."

Farnham glances at Pike, but his glare doesn't stop him from replying, "She's damn young and so thin, you'd think she'd just survived some Holocaust. Looks rather androgynous, with spiked hair and the face full of make-up. I wonder what she's hiding."

Pike puts down fork and knife on his empty plate. "I never asked her, and I won't."

"She's transgender, don't you think?"

He shrugs. "I'm not sure. It's none of my concern either."

"At least she's doing her damndest not to look like a girl, from the way she dresses. And last thing she did was knife some other cadet in a bar so that Chris had to pick her up in the middle of the night."

"John!" Pike's snap finally shuts up his annoying friend.

"Really?" Nat asks curiously.

"First of all, it's neither the first nor the last cadet I picked up from some bar fight," Pike explains stiffly. "Did that often enough with Jim in his first year, and he managed just fine after that. Second, she stabbed the other cadet in self-defense. The cadet threatened and insulted her. The affair ended in a quiet compromise – she doesn't get reprimanded for violence, and he doesn't get reprimanded for xenophobia. I recommended her some martial arts courses, and she seems to do well."

"Well, she does look a little alien, don't you think? It's like a mask she's wearing." Farnham gets up, preparing three espressos.

"We've got many strange people at the academy and a lot of strange things out in space. Xenophobia has no place here."

"Humans still deal a lot better with the truly exotic than with that kind of divergence from the norm. She looks quite human but there's something unusual about her looks and her behavior, something that makes you wonder what's her agenda."

"Her agenda is the command track, and my agenda is to help her keep track." Pike carries away the plates. "I'm out, getting some fresh air." He leaves the kitchen, walking through the long corridor out to the roof garden. It's no comparison to his tiny balcony, just as the apartment – Robert's apartment, actually, but Nat will marry the guy in six weeks – is no comparison to his own small one. Once his annoyance about John's loose mouth has gone, it's substituted by envy for the space and view this apartment offers, and for once he starts thinking about moving, something that hadn't crossed his mind in ten years. Three bedrooms, each with an adjacent bathroom, a large kitchen and living room, and another smaller room for an office, this would mean not having to sit in each other's lap all the time when they are on Earth. Even if said sitting could be fun.

"I'm sorry for asking," Nat says as she draws close from behind, lacing one arm around his hip.

"Not your fault," Pike replies, taking her into a loose hug.

"You like the view?" she asks and nods towards the city below their feet.

"It's perfect."

"It could be yours."

He stares down at her. "You're kidding?"

"Robert and I prefer the country side, and since his children are grown-up and rarely here, the apartment is too large for us. Before I moved in, it's been uninhabited most of the time. And that will happen again after the marriage. So I thought of you and your shoe box, and I wondered if we couldn't swap the apartments."

"You're serious?" Pike shakes his head. "This apartment is worth at least four times the price of my own."

"Maybe, but the offer stands. Think about it, Chris. You'd have room to invite people – I know, I know," she says soothingly as he frowns. "You don't have to, but you could. Or someone could move in -"

"Unlikely." Pike stops her. "And don't even think that between John and me it's any different than during the academy."

"There are more people on Earth than just John," Nat replies quickly.

"I can't imagine that I'd be able to find someone who would fit to me as perfectly as they do."

"But they're not here, and won't be for some more months. I know you still feel lonely –"

"I feel fine, and we keep in pretty close contact." He pulls out of her arms, relieved when John brings the espressos out onto the terrace. Cups are handed, then the sugar passes between them. Somewhere a call sounds and Nat excuses herself to answer it.

Farnham eyes him over the edge of his coffee.

"You knew about the idea with the apartment?" Pike asks.

"Well – yes. It's one of the reasons I dragged you out here today."

Pike downs his coffee, harshly putting down the cup. "If you've already planned to move in, shove it."

"I haven't. I've got a nice apartment of my own, and I'm far beyond the age of cohabitation." Farnham shrugs. "But you know how it is when Nat's motherly instincts surface."

"I cannot fathom why Robert would propose such a deal. I barely know him – I've only seen him a couple of times. And to be frank, he behaved rather dumb when I last talked to him."

"It's because you're _Admiral_ Christopher Pike, and he's got an inferiority complex about anything 'fleet. But you didn't hear that from me."

"Oh?"

Farnham leans against the handrail. "He wanted to join Star Fleet but wasn't fit for the service and had to go into the banking business instead. He still feels a little inadequate for having to give up his big goal, so he likes to follow the 'fleet activities as a kind of second-hand adventure in his life."

"He swims in money and his company's got subsidiaries on four different planets," Pike says incredulously. "His life should be a lot more exciting than mine."

"Doesn't really solve the underlying problem. We've been at the academy, so we easily forget that only one in a hundred make it that far, and only half of them ever graduate. Even the lowest of us is elite." He grins. "Even your punk is top."

"Punk?"

"Or a Goth, maybe. Yes, she could be a neo-Goth." Farnham laughs as Pike flounders. "I've got to drag you into the _Catacombs_ tonight. Then you'll see what I mean."

"I thought Goths were long gone."

"They are – and yet, they never die. They call themselves the living dead for a reason."

Natasha is back, and Pike seizes the moment to bring up a topic that's been in his mind for the last two weeks. "Nat, John – I'd like to change my last will and testament, and since you've signed them in the past, I thought I'd ask if you would testify again."

"It's been ages since you wrote the last one, hasn't it?" Nat says.

Farnham snorts. "You want to include your officers? You know, it's much more likely you'll inherit from them than the other way 'round. And don't look at me like that, folks. Statistically, two ships vanish every year. They're usually just much smaller than your oh-so-important Kelvin."

"I thought about changing the splits, yes," Pike states. "A third to them, a third to Tom, the last third still to 'fleet charity."

"Considering your net worth even fifteen years ago, they'll all make a good deal," Farnham says snippily. "Give them the club shares. I'm sure Kirk would like that."

"Are you okay, Chris, or do we have to get concerned now?" Nat asks with an overly serious face.

"No, everything is fine," Pike replies lightly. "I just thought it's time to update it. So – would you sign?"

Nat nods. "Sure. Just say when."

Farnham waves a hand in agreement. "Maybe you'd have a few credits in it for me too, but yes, I'll sign."

"Good. I'll get back to you when I've talked it through with my lawyer." Pike doesn't say that his friends would inherit a share that is already settled for them since ages; it's protected and tied to their original 'fleet IDs. He'd rather not think about dying, especially since he feels as if he only really started to live again over the last months, but he's used to have his life (and potential demise) in order.

Their conversation quickly moves to Nat's wedding plans, which would take place on Robert's farm, not far away from Tom's and her own. Two hundred guests in an eclectic mix of farmers and 'fleet or former fleet - this is bound to be interesting.

When they leave her in the late afternoon, Nat holds him back in the door and whispers in his ear, "The offer with the apartment stands. Think about it if you want it, and then we can talk about the details."

Pike nods. "It's an attractive offer. I'll get back to you, Nat. Thanks for thinking of me."

"By the way," Farnham says casually when they sit in his car, "I'll be gone for four weeks, starting this Tuesday."

It's not as if Pike is entitled to John's spare time - or even would want to be – but he got used to his friend hanging around in his life lately, and thinking of four weeks without him suddenly sounds like an unpleasant prospect.

"Some secret mission?" he asks.

"Top secret," Farnham replies seriously, before adding, "I'll try to call you, but nothing promised."

"No problem," Pike says. They'd still have this weekend together, and he's used to being alone.

Everything would be fine.

*

"Sir – it's already after eight. Don't you think you should call it a night?"

Lifting his bleary eyes from the screen, Pike meets his assistant's concerned gaze. _Got to do something with first names starting with N_, he thinks at seeing the mother hen expression on Nicole's face that reminds him a lot of Nat.

"I've got another meeting scheduled. I'll go home after that."

She looks a little appeased. "Your cadet?"

"She isn't _my_ cadet but yes, she should arrive in fifteen minutes. Enjoy your evening, Nicole."

Albeit her nod, she keeps lingering in the door. "It's Friday night," she says. "Don't you usually go out?"

He stares at her, wondering if this is some way of fishing for an invitation that would be pointless as well as inappropriate. "Why do you ask?"

"Just wondering if your friend –"

"He's away for a month," Pike replies coolly.

"Oh. That's why you're working so much."

He sighs. "Nicole, it's nice to know you care about my well-being, but your duties do not extend to my private life. So have a good evening and lock the outer office door, the cadet will call me when she's here."

Pike is relieved when she leaves. Rubbing his face, he admits to himself that he's tired but nothing that couldn't be fixed by yet another coffee. He's standing at the machine and waiting for the perfect brew to fill his cup when the cadet walks out of the turbolift.

"Good evening, sir," Dael greets him with a little salute.

Picking up his full cup, Pike shows her to his office.

"I only need a few minutes to close my files," he says and sinks into his chair. "Make yourself comfortable until then." Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees her sitting down on the couch of his little suite, her thin body folding like an accordion. He's especially informal with her in many regards. While most of the problematic young men strive with some kind of supportive but authoritative figure, her mixture of aggression and defense broadcasts her need for security so strongly that from the first talk on, he's done everything to make her feel safer and more comfortable in the presence of himself and other human beings. It is as if she works on the assumption that everyone around her is looking for a weakness to latch upon, and in this mind set, the wrong critic in the wrong moment brings out her metaphoric claws. It gets a little better with the martial arts lessons, but she's far from being an easy-going fellow.

Her aptitude tests, at which he'd only looked after he'd already decided he'd give her a chance, were all over the place; many brilliant, but others sub-par. Her psychological tests are a little inconsistent, too (although that's the case for many cadets), and he harbors the speculation that without the intervention of the IDIC Foundation, she wouldn't have been accepted into the Academy. Pike isn't used to having a protégée that doesn't perform in the top of the class, and he wonders if fate intervened a little before he got too snobbish about that. In any case, he had promised Nogura to be her mentor for this semester, and he'd see to his job being well-done.

With effort, he briefly concentrates on the latest audition reports. The Borg may be more fun than reading internal reviews, but he's still Auditor General and even with most of the daily work in the hand of his deputy Commander Okonkwo, there is still enough left for him. At last, he's done with signing forms and turns his concentration back to the cadet, only to find her fast asleep on the couch. Her head is sunk to one side, her spiky hairstyle a little for the worse. She looks pale like always, the strong make-up layered on her face. Pike agrees with Farnham that it looks like a mask, but he assumes that given the right incentive she'll get around to wearing less of it. There's nothing in her files to suggest a serious psychological problem, so he chalks her behavior up to her youth and some past events that hide in the locked area of her file, the one he didn't yet look into, unwilling to taint his view on her by what others might have written about her.

In his book, everyone has a chance for a clean, fresh start at the Academy.

Pike is torn out of his thoughts when Nogura is suddenly standing in the middle of his office. "Chris, just saw that you're still here – would you have a minute for me?"

"Quiet!" Pike hushes, pointing at the sleeping cadet. "Let's talk outside." He quickly gets up and moves into the outer office area with his colleague, closing the inner office door behind them.

"You've got a cadet sleeping on your couch?" Nogura asks sharply, and Pike shrugs. "We had a meeting scheduled, and I needed a few minutes to wrap my work. Considering that she looks permanently sleep-deprived, I consider it a good thing she gets some sleep somewhere."

"A meeting after eight in the evening?"

"Anything wrong with that?" Pike asks, challenging.

Nogura eyes him as if he's speaking Klingon. "You remember the Adams case?"

"The Adams case..." Pike needs a moment to recall the details. "An instructor that was accused of sexual harassment in 2248." He shakes his head, laughing a little. "Heihachiro, you can't possibly think that I've suddenly developed an interest in malnourished girls."

"I might not think so, but that doesn't mean that others wouldn't insinuate that. Or she might not."

"She's not the type," Pike says, although he's suddenly a little unsure – it's not as if he knows her that well yet. Seeing his doubts registering with Nogura, he nods. "You may be right. It's an unnecessary risk for everyone. I'll arrange earlier appointments in the future."

"And leave the security cams on," Nogura admonishes him. "You should be used to them, considering that bridge activities are recorded since the first days of spaceflight."

"I never liked that," Pike admits. "But you're right." Feeling unusually reprimanded, he tugs at the collar of his uniform. "So, why did you come to see me?" he asks, hoping for a turn in their discussion.

"It was nothing important," Nogura says coolly. "See you on Monday." He turns and leaves.

_Holy crap_. Pike has rarely seen Nogura so angry, and it's enough to make him hurry back into his office, switch on the cam and wake up the cadet. She looks confused, profoundly apologizing for having fallen asleep.

"That's no problem at all," Pike says swiftly. "But there's an emergency I need to deal with. We'll move the appointment to -" he eyes his calendar –"0730 on next Tuesday. Does that work for you?"

"Uh – yes," Dael agrees after a look at her PADD. "I'm really very sorry, Sir."

He shakes his head, smiling encouragingly at her. "I know how full your schedule currently is. Go home and have a good night's sleep and a relaxing weekend."

Pike hopes she will, because his weekend looks currently like shit squared. He's annoyed about Nogura by now - it's a tell-tale attitude that sees women as a natural, ready target while the young men Pike had usually been mentoring had never been seen as particularly vulnerable and worth protecting. He knows that this mostly mirrors the way the ominous construct called _society_ looks at these situations and has little to do with Pike himself, but it rankles him that Nogura instantly leapt onto this cliché. Pike leaves the building shortly after, resorting to a few drinks in a nearby gay bar to let off some steam. There are some guys that could interest him, but in the end it's all too much hassle for him in his still foul mood, and he goes home alone.

*

When Pike gets home half an hour later, the apartment is dark and cool – _no surprises there_ – but at least there's a signal blinking on his console, the pattern announcing a recording with the private tag on it. He's curious but not ready for listening right away, so he eats something first and then takes a shower before starting it. It's from the doc, which is rare. It's the doc lying on his bed, which is even rarer – obviously naked, one arm folded under his head, the other stretched out on his side, vanishing off the screen towards his hips.

"_Hey, beautiful lover. I know I don't send recordings often enough. Can't help feeling a little strange whenever I make one, especially one of these. But tonight, I miss you like hell, and I can't help sharing that. It's not nice, I know, but I hope you can enjoy it a little anyway._"

Hearing McCoy's intro, Pike quickly stops and relocates from the office to his bedroom. Since the vacation, the private recordings have changed in tone; they are frequently full cam recordings, with the lens capturing the men in private settings like the bed or the shower. They feel more intimate and intense, so Pike has installed a second screen in the bedroom. It's the screen on which McCoy's face and upper body appear now, and Pike lies down on his own bed, matching his lover's position.

The doc's eyes are half-closed as he resumes speaking. "_Have been thinking about you all day, wondering how you're doing. Been thinking back to our vacation, many wonderful moments. Remembered how you looked on your knees, sucking my dick. But getting even harder over thinking of you fucking me. I miss your hands on me, Chris. I miss your kiss and you bossing me around and the way you look when you come undone. I miss spooning you in the night and watching you sleep._"

The doc moves his free arm. "_I've got my hand on my dick and pretending it's you who's doing it. Strong fingers moving all over it, palming the shaft, drawing a thumb over the glans._" His head tilts back, eyes fluttering. "_Slipping further down and cupping my balls, gently rolling them. Move on to my ass, rubbing over my hole. Then returning to my dick, fisting it._"

A whimper is caught in the air between them as Pike's own free hand draws to his straining erection, tightening around it as he imagines the doc being the one to do it. Joined in low moans they share the moment until McCoy clears his throat.

"_I've got a dildo here, it's large and slick with that hot cream of yours. I'm going to push it into my ass now and fuck myself, thinking it's you. Imaging it's your dick filling me up, riding me._"

The doc briefly shows an impressive dildo, then reaches around himself and angles to insert it, one leg raised high in the air. It must be an uncomfortable position but that doesn't stop him. McCoy gasps as the dildo is fully inside, then sways back and forth as he fucks himself with it. Quiet at first, McCoy turns louder with every minute. He changes position, going on all fours and turning the cam in a way that leaves only his ass and a bodiless hand moving a dildo on Pike's screen. Whimpers and moans reverberate in the mike, the breaths turning into wheezes as the doc's getting closer to orgasm.

Pike is already close when McCoy changes position once more, leaning back on his knees so that the dildo is held inside by the heels of his feet and his hands are free to rub his erection, magnified fingers gliding up and down the pulsing member and filling the screen. Tell-tale jerks signal the immediately following orgasm, and then the white liquid splashes all over his hands, a voluptuous amount that dribbles down as the last drops are milked out of a dark red slit.

With a long, drawn-out cry, Pike comes, thrashing into his own hand. He sighs as he rides out his orgasm, his fingers slick, his dick hot and sensitive, a whimper escaping his throat. And then it hits him like a baseball bat in his guts, brutal and unexpected, and it breaks the damn around what he's contained so carefully over the last weeks, a flash flood of _needdesireloneliness_ making him curl and half-sob into his cushion. _Damn, damn, damn the doc_ for doing this to him, killing his reserve and letting out the beasts.

The words from the recording faintly echo through his pain, "_Love you, Chris. Miss you. Take care. We'll talk to you soon._" When it stops, he opens his eyes to white noise. The doc's tense face and his subdued smile are frozen on the screen, and from the looks of it, McCoy's yearning hadn't been eased any better by this recording than Pike's has.

With another heartfelt curse on his lips, Pike gets up from the bed with one sperm-filled hand close to his groin, the other one balled to a fist (how much he wants to hit something now, hard). He hurries back into the shower, the water as hot as he can stand it, and tries to wash away his come and his bone-deep frustration, only succeeding with one of them.

On the next morning, he tries to formulate an answer. "_I wish you didn't send me such a recording. It fucking hurts,_" is the first thing he deletes, because they've agreed on not limiting the subjects of their recordings. "_It was hot and it broke my heart,_" is the second try that goes down the drain, because he'll definitely not send anything that sappy to the doc.

It's a simple "_Miss you too_" Pike finally settles on before fleeing into a weekend of horse-back riding in the desert, feeling stupid for answering such an intimate, rare recording with such a platitude. He's not surprised that the next recordings are made by Jim alone, and he's ashamed for being a little relieved about it.

*

Two more weeks go by, each day filled with as much work as he can possibly fit in, the weekends always spent out in the desert, which is at least the one place where he can't fuck up much, knowing his horse and the desert too well.

Then, on a Thursday afternoon, he finds himself in a place he hadn't really expected himself to be in anytime soon, and he's not sure it's a bright idea when he stands in front of the wall-high mirror in the restroom on his office floor, nudging the instructor's greys into form. _Still looking good in it_, he thinks with a little vanity.

"_Just this one time, Pike,_" the current Academy head Komack had said when he'd called him two days ago. "_Four of our usual instructors have come down with Andorian shingles and we need to replace them with experienced officers for this training course. I know you're busy like hell, but maybe four days might be manageable for you? Please think about it for an hour – I'd owe you one._"

A realistic training course onboard the teaching vessel Aurora with the first year students, and there were so many good reasons to say no, not the least his currently insane workload, but the idea of being on a ship in space overruled all other concerns. It also would have the additional merit of being able to see his protégée in action, something he's extremely curious about. He had called Komack ten minutes later and agreed to the position before even checking with his assistant. It had left her to deal with the resulting chaos and she'd been giving him a cold shoulder ever since. Poor girl. He'd have to make it up to her somehow – after the course.

He leaves the restroom and briefly returns to his office to grab his small bag.

"Enjoy your trip," Nicole says, apparently on speaking terms with him again, and he smiles at her. "Thanks. A training course with over a hundred cadets should be fun." Pike tries to sound sarcastic, but damn if he doesn't look forward to being on a ship again. Feeling surprisingly rejuvenated, he steps onto the beam point. It might not be a walk in the park – he's a bit apprehensive about going back to the job after almost six years away from a bridge – but he's sure it'll be a great experience for everyone.

It takes four beam stations to reach the shuttle of the training bridge crew, and five hours to reach the ship, filled with amicable discussions of the course plan with his colleagues. His heart skips a beat as he walks out of the shuttle, inhaling the typical stale air of a hangar bay.

"Welcome onboard, admiral," a young officer says and salutes. Pike nods in reply. "My pleasure, lieutenant," he says and absolutely means it.

*

It doesn't take long for Pike to find out that his protégée is as much of an outsider in her year as he feared her to be. Besides one female cadet who clings to Dael's side and turns out to be her roommate Charlene Rogers, most cadets keep away from the girl. The two girls end in the engineering group under a colleague's command, and Pike is relieved about this as he wants to avoid the semblance of favoritism. He's not beyond pulling a few strings to get Dael an interesting position in the simulation, though, in which she holds her own surprisingly well over the course of the next hours.

"It's always the quiet cadets that are the best," the chief engineer says in the wrap-up round when she marks Dael down with an A for the first day. "I thought about giving her the night shift, together with the Tellarite guy and the three Deltans. Gives the team the chance for some additional points when they calibrate the maladjusted grit sensors."

Pike agrees and makes a note to show up in the night shift; nothing wrong with checking on cadets and satisfying his natural curiosity.

*

_Breaking News ETCV – your voice of the morning – Ossi O'Neil._

_Almost-disaster on a training cruiser in orbit around the Moon.  
What should only be four days of Starfleet cadet training on the space ship 'Aurora' turned into a nightmare when barely escaping a warp core breach. Of the one-hundred-and-ten first year cadets and ten officers that manned the ship during the training run, two people had to be taken to the hospital, one still in critical condition. The training was immediately stopped and the cadets are on their way back to Earth, while specialists will now have to find the cause of the potentially fatal technical failure._

_An official press conference is scheduled by Starfleet for 0700 Western Standard. Stay tuned for more information._

*  
From a call recorded on Natasha Solway's console at 0620 SFA local time:

_Nat –_

_For all I know you're also on Chris' emergency contact list, but in case you're not or they didn't reach you yet, I just got a call from Starfleet and he's one of the people who got injured on the Aurora this morning. Seems he got in the way of an energy overload. He's in surgery in Lunar One MedCenter and it's serious but I've got no doubt he'll make it._

_I thought about flying over but I really can't leave Earth right now. Maybe you could…? I'm in contact with the hospital and the 'fleet spokesman on the Moon. Please call me back when you get this message._

_All will be well -_

_John_

*

It's that peculiar feeling of floating Pike has experienced much too often that tells him that he's not dead. But it's the vision of pitch-black, angry patterns on a body bending over him that tells him he's still in a freaking nightmare. He reaches out for consciousness, forcing his eyes open against the lure of the sedation. All is white and bright and he winces as it blinds him.

But at least, nothing black.

Taking inventory of his state, he finds he's full with painkillers and there's a vague burning across his chest. Sluggishly lifting a hand, he wants to feel the damage when a distant alert sounds, and people start to fill the room.

"I'm Doctor Soral," someone says. "You've gone through an emergency surgery. You may not remember the events, but we will explain everything after your checkup. Give us eight minutes."

They fiddle around with controls, the monitors above his head rapidly switching between differently colored charts. They touch his hands and look into his eyes and check whatever it is on his chest. Pike's zoning out a little because he hates getting manhandled like some brain-dead piece of meat but when he does that, the memories of the patterns flicker up again.

_Curled in a corner, hand pressed against his uniform, everything wet and warm, view fogged from pain, eyes from under black tattoos staring... _

"Sir, please stay with us," someone says and there's a light slap to his face, encouraging him to substitute the memories with reality. He's not opposed to the coolness of the voice, a welcoming grounding when every floating memory is suddenly leaping onto the shock that's reverberating in his body, reliving the moment.

_Red on white fabric, dark patterns leaking through, shouted words he doesn't understand, hands pulling him aside, every movement agony..._

"Sir!" The voices drift, his vision blurs - the face changes into another man with pointed ears, _give me the codes_, black on white, he's bleeding, he's in engineering and needs to get the kids out before Nero can get them, he'll be a dead man, fucking cold, so -

*

It's like a button being pushed in his brain, and this time Pike is not floating. He's suddenly wide awake, and when he sees the hypo in the hand of a woman, he's instantly oriented. He's in a hospital room, though smaller and less well equipped as the ones he's used to. The woman wears a uniform unlike the one in SFM General, and his chest hurts.

It's good to feel the pain, because it tells him this is real.

"Where am I?" he wants to ask, but his voice fails, his throat dry and slightly burning. After a few sips of water, he's ready to ask again.

"You're on the Moon, at Lunar One MedCenter. You've been brought here after an accident on the _Aurora_." The woman searches his face. "Do you remember the events?"

"Barely." He tries to think about it and every train of thought ends with black on white patterns and it gives him chills. "I... I've been in engineering, and there was a malfunction. Something severe. I had to get the kids out because..." He brushes over his face, the mingled memories unwilling to solidify into a full picture.

"Because...?"

Something clicks. "Because there was only the choice between a warp core breach or a manual energy rerouting with the risk of system overload. Which...happened." He glances down on his chest. "Something hit me. The containment fields went up to secure the section. The chem-showers started to flood the room to neutralize the radiation. I... by all rights, I should be dead."

"You probably would be if not for one of your cadets," the woman says and smiles.

*

It's John and the 'fleet representative that share the duty to inform him over a split view screen, filling the chronological details of the time frame which his memory doesn't deliver. How he's made sure that all cadets would be out of the immediate danger area before he rerouted the energy. That after a piece of baffle plate had pierced his chest and left him severely injured and unable to proceed with his original plan, a single cadet – namely his own protégée – rescued him by moving him into one of Jeffrey tubes.

"_You scare me,_" Farnham says when the representative has signed off. "_First you speak about changing your will, and now this. Is that second sight or something?_" But Farnham doesn't give Pike a chance for a reply, only roughly says good-bye before signing off in an obvious hurry.

Their call leaves him restless and vaguely irritated. He doesn't care about being called a hero for doing his duty like every officer would have done, and their story doesn't answer his most burning question.

He's got to wait a full day until Dael is out of isolation, having taken a larger brunt of the chem-shower. When the nurse finally announces her arrival, he's relieved and incredibly nervous at the same time.

She limps a little as she walks into the room, clad in a too wide hospital gown, white slippers on her feet. But the only feature that really registers with him is her face, the dark Romulan tattoos curving over her chin, decorating her forehead. He stares at the pattern, curling in his bed a little just to prove his subconscious that he can, that this isn't some past shit. These patterns are like the culmination of everything that happened _back then_, and to see them again, here, on her, makes his mind reel.

She just keeps looking back at him, tense and quiet.

There would be a lot of good things to say, like thanking her for saving his life, but he's got to know which of his memories are real, and which aren't.

"May I see your chest?" he asks tensely. _Way to get a reprimand for sexual harassment_, he thinks, but she only nods and opens the gown. She's wearing slacks underneath, but her upper body is bare, and she proceeds to remove the gown completely, then stands there, offering herself to his gaze. The pattern goes all the way down her lanky body, front and back, vanishing in the pants. They're unlike Nero's and still much too similar.

_"Give me the frequencies, Christopher," Nero asked. Pike was shivering in the cold room, but Nero had opened his coat a while ago, and when he leaned over him, the pattern was carving its way into Pike's mind, the constant bombardment of dark curved lines like accents to every word of the Romulan. _

_"The frequencies," Nero said, closing his right hand around Pike's jaw, forcing him to look at him, eyes of a madman framed by what might have been just beautiful art at another place and time... and then the numbers started to roll over Pike's tongue, one by one._

He roughly shakes himself out of the memories, taking a deep breath.

"Thank you, cadet," Pike says firmly, although he can feel sweat pooling on his upper lip and from her gaze, he's rather sure she can notice it, too. "It is always good to face one's inner demons," he adds.

There's a light curve on her lips, a shadow of a smile as she dresses again. "Very true, sir."

He beckons her closer, and she sits down next to the bed, arms protectively laced in front of her.

"Thank you for saving my life. Without you, I would have gotten roasted in there," he says gently. "Though I wonder if you have any excuse for not following my orders, cadet."

She blinks. "Sir?"

"I gave the evacuation order for a reason. Disobeying orders isn't some trivial offense. Orders are the foundation of Starfleet."

Dael shifts in the chair, belligerence rising in her gaze. "I disobeyed your orders because I had information you did not seem privy to, admiral. That part of engineering had been redesigned over the last year. Even in the worst case, the radiation level would not have been lethal. The Jeffrey tubes have been equipped with extra shielding and air inlets from other levels, so that they could protect four persons over a time of two hours from any radiation leaks in the main engineering bay. It would have been more logical for you to select someone as your helper and then retreat into these tubes - sir."

Slightly speechless, Pike stares at her. He hadn't known about these changes in design, given that he had been neither involved with nor really interested in ship development over the last few years. He would research the matter, but she sounds very sure.

"If that is the truth," he says slowly, almost unwillingly, "then your reasoning was sound and your decision is accepted. Well-done, cadet." He feels more than a little stupid, but the feeling will go – he's used to make decisions on the information available to him in the blink of the moment, and while it's good to analyze 'wrong' decisions afterwards, there's no use in crying over spilled milk. He would've died for the kids and wouldn't have regretted it a single second.

They are interrupted by the opening door, and Pike expects some doctor coming to reign him in; but instead, a nurse switches on the small screen at the end of his bed. "You've got an urgent call patched through, sir," she says and vanishes again. For a second, there's the long-distance intercom sign for real-time transmission, and then two well-known faces appear on the screen.

"Chris, damn! You're unbelievable. Getting yourself on a ship just to get almost blown to pieces." McCoy blurts out without any introduction. Pike feels a blush rising. "Doc, could you please hold on for a second, I've got a visitor."

Dael was frozen in her chair, but now hastily moves to stand.

"Ah – that's your cadet? How about a little introduction?"

"Cadet Dael – this is Lieutenant Commander Dr. McCoy of the Enterprise, and next to him is Captain Kirk. My friends – this is cadet Dael." The parties eye each other over the cams with curious gazes.

"Nice meeting you," Kirk says with a smile. "It seems we've got to thank you for saving the admiral's life."

Dael nods, her face unusually red. "Captain, doctor – I only did my duty." Then she stiffly addresses Pike, "Permission to retreat, sir?"

"Permission granted," Pike says and waits until she's out of the door before concentrating back on the screen with his lovers.

"Whoa, the patterns on her face – they look like Nero's," Kirk states, letting his surprise off the rein. "What's her story?"

"I don't know yet – I only learned about her tattoos during the emergency."

"Keep us posted. I'm really curious." Kirk takes a deep breath. "You really scared us, Chris. Could you please try not to get killed on simple training courses? We're supposed to have the dangerous missions, not you."

"Jim's right," McCoy states. "Since you noted me as one of your personal physicians, I took the freedom to read your medical files and it's been a damn close call."

Pike waves a hand in a gesture of shrugging. "It was necessary for saving those kids, and I'd do it again any time." Not completely the truth, but truth enough for them.

"You seem to have a tendency for heroic showdowns," McCoy states, a deep frown stapled on his forehead.

"Comes with the trade," Pike says unapologetically, thankful that McCoy doesn't launch into his potential martyr complex, which his latest psychologist had loved to discuss. "And speaking of trade, I thought you were out of range for real-time transmissions?"

"Nogura ordered us around to the closest outpost, which had been two days away. Given that you've been out of it for three…" Kirk grins. "We're supposed to render technical help here."

Pike shares the smile. "A rather flimsy excuse."

"Guess the outing has some good sides too. Didn't realize before how much Nogura favors you."

"We've got to sign off. Love you, Chris. Please, try to stay alive and follow your doctor's orders," McCoy says roughly.

"What Bones says," Kirk agrees. "Take care, and I hope we can call once more before dragging back to the star charting fun. Or maybe you could drop a hint to your friend Nogura regarding our assignment."

"I'll see what I can do," Pike says softly. "Take care too, and all my love."

The men nod, then the connection is cut and the placeholder image appears. With a sigh, Pike relaxes in his cushions, suddenly extremely tired. He's barely awake when the nurse comes back to give him another hypo for whatever, then drifts into sleep.

*

The next morning, the old man himself comes to visit him. Dael is sitting in the visitor's chair, waiting for her discharge and trip back to Earth, going through her next week's schedule with Pike who sits half-up with a regen unit on his chest. Nogura exchanges a few kind words with Dael, congratulating her on her actions and predicting a more official reaction of the Academy. Then he claims that he needs to speak with her mentor alone and shows her out.

"Hello, Heihachiro," Pike says as they shake hands. "You knew, didn't you?"

"Of course," Nogura answers without hesitation and pulls the chair closer to sit down next to the bed.

"Why me?" Pike asks. "If I'd known this before, I probably wouldn't even have spoken to her."

"There are quite a few people who criticize your obvious fascination with potential. And I agree, you have that preference and that can make it hard for those who don't meet your standards. The flip side of it is that you care very little about everything else. Or do you think another recruiter would've taken Jim Kirk on board after a glance of his dossier? You only looked at his aptitude tests – so I was fairly sure you'd also only look at her tests, and wouldn't ask to unlock her background information. So you were the right person for her, Chris. And she proved it."

Pike nods. "So – what _is_ in her locked files?"

"Why don't you find out by yourself?"

"A hint, please."

"Khal'kohachi."

"Never heard before. What is it?"

"Was it. A small colony near the Romulan border." Nogura smiles, an enigmatic, white-teethed smile that never reveals anything. "For everything else, get her confidential information unlocked… or even better, ask herself. Because I doubt that the files are complete."

"You're accepting cadets with incomplete files into the Academy?" Pike asks with a twinkle.

"Too many. But to get back to business -" Nogura pulls out a PADD. "I've been informed that you'll be kept here for another week. Do you have any plans regarding your task force?"

"My assistant is ready to take over all organizational duties. There's nothing big on the task list for this week, as the specialists are still analyzing the reports last sent in from the Lexington. The results are supposed to be delivered in ten days."

"Fine. I heard that you are a little under-equipped." Nogura quickly puts the PADD into Pike's hand. "For you. Better keep it away from your doctors."

Pike sighs in relief and stashes it away. "Definitely, thank you. I think they want to kill me with boredom."

Boredom, Pike finds out after Nogura's leaves, is not on his agenda that morning, as both Nat and John and then his lovers call in, followed by yet another round of doctors' visits.

The regen units and their accompanying medicine take their toll, and he spends most of the next hours asleep. When he wakes up in the late afternoon, his gaze involuntarily drifts to the visitor's chair. He gapes as he recognizes the man that sits there.

"Spock!" Pike exclaims and searches for the button to lift the upper side of the bed. He finds it and the mattress shifts, making him groan a little.

"There's no need for you to exert yourself, admiral," Spock replies with his dark voice, and moves over to take his hand in a firm but gentle grip.

"What brings you here, Spock? Everything all right with Jim?" Pike asks in sudden concern.

"The captain and the doctor have had to resume their mission and are out of real time transmission range now. But they promise a recording soon." Spock takes a surprisingly deep breath. "I've come for you, admiral. When I heard about the accident, I could not help myself – I need to apologize."

"Apologize?"

"Yes. If I had known you would fill in the instructor position again, I might have been able to warn you. It might have made a difference." There's pain and regret around the man like an aura, and Pike briefly closes his eyes and rubs his face, trying to dispel the last traces of sleep.

"Warn me? If this is going where I think it going, you better take a seat, Spock," he says. The old Vulcan nods and draws the chair closer to his bed, then sits down, hands tightly folded in front of him.

"Can I offer you anything? Water? Tea?"

"Nothing, thank you."

Pike leans back. "Care to tell me what really happened to me in your timeline?" he asks. "Because I didn't really buy your answer the last time around, and hearing your words now doesn't make it any better."

"While serving as instructor, you participated in a training course when a baffle plate broke. You rescued many cadets but were gravely wounded by delta rays in the process," Spock explains without ado.

"Gravely as in ...?"

"You had to be put on permanent life support, unable to move, unable to communicate with your surrounding besides a simple yes or no."

Pike would grant Spock this - he doesn't weasel around the brutal truth once he decides to be open. "So I guess I've had the better draw this time around," he states, forcing out a little smile. "But why did you lie to me?"

"Some months after the accident, you were permanently moved to an alien planet whose species was able to offer a fantasy world to you. You spent the rest of your life living in health and beauty and with the companionship of a similarly incapacitated female." Spock gives him an annoyingly gentle look. "It is not within the original definition of 'long and prosper', but considering the alternatives you have lived well."

"Well -" Pike echoes. "Not my idea of well, but you might be the better judge of this. You didn't have anything to do with that particular solution, did you?"

"I was slightly involved," Spock says, holding Pike's gaze.

There's a knock on the door, the nurse coming in for his afternoon checkup. "I fear you've got to leave for today," she says to his visitor.

"May I return tomorrow, admiral?" Spock addresses Pike.

Pike nods. "You're welcome. Maybe a little earlier; I've got a tight schedule here."

Spock takes it as standing invitation.

*

With everyone either away on Earth or out in space, Spock's daily visits markedly improve Pike's mood. He'd been more than critical of Spock's behavior the first time they met, and he is still critical about the way the man deals with his immense knowledge, but the fact that the Vulcan has shared the truth about Pike's self in the other timeline had done much to appease him. Trying to needle the man out of his stubborn position of holding back most of his information is the best counter-agent against intellectual boredom, although Pike never reaches his goal – or at least not in the way he expects.

"Do you sometimes feel like God?" Pike asks on the second day.

"God?" Spock lifts a brow.

"Omniscient. Able to predict the future."

"If I could do this, I might feel like a higher being. Unfortunately, nobody can predict the future."

"There's got to be other situations where you do know what happens, even if my accident didn't exactly take place like in your universe. Illnesses you have the cure for. Viruses you know the antidotes. Planets you know we shouldn't put our feet on."

"Not as much as I would prefer," Spock says, a shadow flickering over his features. "Even my memory does not contain everything I have come across."

"It's not enough to feed us bits and pieces like you do so far." Pike pushes his point. "One day, you're gone, and then what?"

Spock bows his head and for a second Pike thinks he's reached him - but then he realizes that the Vulcan is just dangerously close to a smile and wants to hide it.

"What's so funny about it?"

"Do you not think I have considered the alternatives, admiral? Do you not think that many intelligent men, not the least my own father in this timeline, have logically argued with me?"

"And Jim."

"No, he never argued." Spock looks up. "Not over this decision."

"You accept him like he wants to be. He accepts you like you decide to be."

"Exactly."

Slightly surprised about his own brilliant statement, Pike closes his mouth, trying to keep its gist for future consideration. It lingers in the night, long after Spock left.

On the fourth visit, their discussion turns to the complex interaction between the old Spock and McCoy, and Pike is siding a little with McCoy as he challenges Spock into admitting that he interferes with the couple's life because of personal interests. Basically, because he wants Jim to himself, like in the other timeline.

He doesn't expect to see one of Spock's tiny, sad smiles that flicker up once in a while. Whoever thought Vulcans were emotionless should be beaten with a stick.

"The doctor is in error about my motives," Spock says at last.

Pike looks at him, long and hard, and suddenly the penny drops. "You weren't in a relationship with just Jim – you were in a relationship with both."

"Correct, although this took place several years after the original mission. When we first met, I wasn't able to accept emotions, neither my own nor theirs. It needed a long separation and my death before we could come together at last."

Pike frowns about what has to be an exaggeration but doesn't ask because he wants to follow his train of thoughts. "And the reason you stay away from the doc is that you don't want to get close to him again. But why do you still seek out Jim…?"

"I keep away from them both, as much as I can. But sometimes I crave a moment of companionship. I try to keep them rare and brief."

How much sadness could there be in such few words, Pike wonders and looks away.

"I am pleased to see that the relationship between the captain and the doctor flourishes," Spock says, gaze staring into the distance. "I was surprised to find you a participant. It appears that a threesome constellation is a stable state for them."

"You hid your surprise well."

"I am Vulcan." There's silence between them for a moment, before Spock says, "May I ask you a personal question?"

"Try," Pike says.

"You appear to be solely interested in men. Is that true?"

"Yes."

"Your counterpart had a strong interest in Orion women."

"An interest?"

"You might call it a fetish."

"I'm not interested in women, no matter their color," Pike states.

"Fascinating. I wonder where this difference comes from. Your early past should not have been influenced by the Kelvin."

"Frankly, after having read up a little on time travel theories and considered a few statements by Jim, I doubt that we are in a time line with only the Kelvin as a difference," Pike says slowly. "It appears the split happened earlier."

"I agree," Spock says easily.

Pike shakes his head. "This is in contradiction to the current pet theory of the Federation's temporal physicists. Maybe you should write a paper about it."

Spock folds his hands. "Maybe you should."

"I'm only an admiral who scanned a few papers in his spare time but not masochistic enough to return to multidimensional quantum mathematics."

"You sell yourself short."

Pike waves him off. "The only person who could definitely compare the timelines is you, and you adamantly insist you won't do it."

"Definitely. Imagine if more people realized that by traveling through time, they could change the flow of history - make their beloved ones return, ends wars, or start wars… There is no limit to the possibilities."

"I agree. But still..." Pike is being egoistic – or maybe not really egoistic because he thinks more of Jim and the doc who might be at risk by something that could easily be resolved with the right information, and it's driving him a little nuts to have the keeper of this knowledge so close and yet so unrelenting. At the end of all discussion, he resigns to the hope that Spock would do a lot to protect the men they both care about so deeply.

*

When Pike is discharged, he's not surprised when Spock is the one bringing him to the shuttle with a rented flyer. The Vulcan helps him put his bag into the trunk (which makes Pike feel like an old man) before he slips onto the seat next to Spock.

"Courtesy of New Vulcan?"

"Courtesy of an old Vulcan," Spock replies with an almost invisible twinkle in his eyes.

They ride in silence until Spock stops close to the airport, but not yet at the gate. Pike takes in the sudden, strange tension in the cabin. There's an option in the air, dangerously inviting and yet so unattainable.

"You know I can't do that," Pike says quietly, meeting the gaze of Spock's dark eyes. "I can't participate in a mind meld."

_Speaking about keeping things to oneself..._

"Because of them?"

"Yes."

"Maybe they wouldn't mind."

"McCoy would." Pike looks away. "And I mind that a lot." He sighs. "We can talk."

"We already talked enough, don't you think?" Spock draws a little closer, and for a moment Pike wonders whether he'd stand much of a chance if Spock tried to take what he wants, the words _non-negotiated mind meld_ suddenly coming back to him. He can only hope that the Vulcan's ethics haven't been completely corrupted over the last years.

"You are lonely. You crave companionship – not just the sexual release you gain with your friend John."

It's a little intimidating to receive such a fitting diagnosis when Pike hadn't even spoken one word about his part-time lover to Spock. "Can't deny it. But this won't solve anything."

"It would alleviate the pain for a while. I have memories of a lifetime with them. Why suffer when we could ease the pain by sharing?"

"You're a stubborn old man, Spock. I said no." Pike knows exactly what Spock is craving, but nothing he could offer would make it any easier for a man who's lost both his universe and his partners, and nothing Spock could offer would make his current situation any better either.

"It's intended as an offer, not an assault," Spock says but keeps drawing closer, rising one hand.

"Spock – stop." Pike inhales sharply as one wrinkled forefinger draws along his cheek. There's a tingle, a sudden lurching of images and visions before he manages to slap the hand away. It brings Spock back to his senses.

"I apologize," the Vulcan says roughly and starts the engine to deliver Pike to his terminal. A few awkward moments later they face each other in front of the flyer. Spock offers the Vulcan greeting, his voice level and emotionlessly. "Thank you for our discussions, admiral. It was a unique pleasure to speak about the things that touch us both. Live long and prosper."

"Thank you, too. It would be a lie to say I enjoyed them all, but it was certainly interesting and enlightening. May you also live long and prosper." Pike's fingers have no problem forming the Ta'al, and so they part.

When his shuttle leaves and Pike sees a tiny, regal figure standing near the main gate, he's suddenly drowning in the eerie feeling that he won't see the old Vulcan again. A part of him sorely regrets that he had to deny the mind meld; it would surely have been the experience of a lifetime. But it also would have felt like betraying the doc's trust, and that is an absolute no-go for Pike. He splays his hand over the cool shuttle window, thinking of his lovers out in space, probably anxiously waiting for a message from him that he didn't feel up to recording yet.

"Wish you were here," he whispers.

*

Two days later, Pike is back in his office, taking it easy in the first week back on duty. He's also finally giving in to Natasha' nudging and decides to buy Robert's apartment - a larger investment than he feels really comfortable with, but still too good to pass up. He's unwilling to give up his shoebox, as Nat calls it, but he can always rent it out, and this way, he's not pressed to move right away.

It's the largest credit transfer he's undertaken in ages, and seeing his funds suddenly depleted like this makes him nervous and wonder if he only doesn't care about the money because, for the longest time, he's had full banking accounts and very small expenses. Like with sex, it probably obeys the 80-20 rule – if you have it, it's twenty percent of your thoughts, and if you don't have it, it's eighty percent

Pike battles the eighty percent sex thoughts by hanging out with Farnham, striving to prove to his friend that despite his recent injury he won't break during sex, and battles the eighty percent money thought by transferring some of the club funds to his private accounts. There's still enough left for a future revamp of all playrooms, something that's been on his mind lately after a lengthy talk with the current operator. He still doesn't have much time and inclination to get actively involved into the current club developments, but he's keeping an eye on its long-time prospects. It's something to look forward to in retirement, whenever this would be.

Regarding his mentorship, he still sees Dael every other week. Their interaction shifted a little after the events on the Aurora, less because of her saving his life and more because his doubts into her abilities had been cleared by the way she'd overruled his orders. Being visited by the chief engineer while still in the hospital had given him the chance to assure himself of the soundness of her decision.

_"Yes, the section had been restructured. There had been too many accidents with energy overload in the past years, so every engineering section in the 'fleet has been revamped to the new security standards,_" the woman had said. "_But frankly, sir – if it had been me, I also would've made sure the cadets would be out of the way. It was the first run of the warp core after the overhaul, and my decade-old concerns about the radiation issues in that section would've been enough to make me strive for extra safety and double fallbacks. Your actions were fully justified. But I'm also glad that the Academy still produces cadets that can think for themselves._"

While Pike had adamantly declined any decoration for himself, Dael had received a Starfleet Medal for Commendation for her courage in the next plenum, with Nogura himself giving the speech. She'd cringed in the thunderous applause that followed, but when he had congratulated her afterwards, he'd seen that special glow in her features. The cadet might not be easy to work with, but she proved that she is in the right place, to him and everyone else, instructors and students alike. It seemed to have taken off the edge of some of her insecurities, a large step into better integration into the Academy.

She still wears the make-up everywhere, which is a sensible decision regarding the possible uproar the tattoos would cause even in the most tolerant institution on Earth. He probably should be relieved about that, but it goes against his belief that everyone should be able to live one's life without the need to hide such important aspects. The thought solidifies over the next meeting, until Pike finally can't stand watching the mask for another second.

"Cadet – please follow me," he says out of the blue, right in the middle of her recounting her schedule, and with a curious frown she follows him to the small, hidden washroom in the corner of his office.

"I know you want to protect yourself, and also maybe protect me by wearing your cover, but within these walls, it will no longer be necessary."

He takes a cloth, wets it with water. Then he turns to her, supporting her head with one hand as he starts cleaning her face, removing the very resilient covering cream until the tattoos are sharp and black. When he's done, he puts the cloth away and reaches for a towel, drying her face.

She doesn't stop looking at him.

His fingers linger over her cheeks as he wipes the last dampness away, touching the lines of the tattoos. His chest still tightens whenever he sees them and he doubts that will stop anytime soon. He's possibly using her as a means to some personal therapy, now that he thinks of it, and feels a little guilty about it.

It's just that when he looks at her, forcing himself to see the patterns as just some beautiful art, everything seems to get a little easier. The tattoos become her, emphasizing the angles of her face, giving her features a different character. His fingertips draw down to her lips, sweeping over them. She leans a little forward. He mirrors the motion.

And then they kiss.

It's gentle, not too long, not too deep, but it's a kiss and Pike accepts that he just doesn't know a better way to show her how much he cares about her, how much he supports her fight and the way she works for her dreams.

When they part, her gaze is serious and intense. There's no smile to break the tension - the kiss hasn't been about lust but about acknowledgement, and he feels the same. He withdraws his hand. "Let's get back to work." She only nods and follows him back into the office. He sits down in his chair, she sits down in hers, and they resume their work as if nothing has changed, as if he doesn't see the dark patterns on her face whenever he looks at her now.

*

They don't ever mention the kiss. Pike expected nothing else. The cadet also doesn't stop using the makeup cover in public, and he accepts that as a measure of self-protection from overreacting parties such as he would have been – but she never wears it when coming to his office, and he's proud that at least she doesn't have to hide with him any longer.

At times he sees her sitting on the academy stairs with her roommate (and possibly girlfriend, though he's not completely sure about that) and some other cadets, no longer just solitary, and it makes him hope. The midterm break is coming closer, and he's already decided that she won't need his support in the next semester. His door will be open to her, but it's up to her to take up his offer and he somehow doubts she'd make use of it.

It makes him think of all the support he has been offered in his life, and never taken. The drawback of self-sufficiency –frustrating the people who are close enough to care about you.

Shrugging himself out of his thoughts, he crosses the Academy grounds to meet some associated members of his Borg task force for a business meal – time to focus on his real work.

*

From Cpt. Esteban of the Lexington, to Adm. Pike, SF HQ

_Report #5_

_Included files:_  
* Updated map of Borg activity in Area VII/3/I  
* Reports of Romulan sightings  
* Analysis of Borg sighting reports on the planets of system 355 (from interviews)  
* Analysis of Borg traces in system 367 (archeologist findings)  
* Analysis of three Borg satellites (dated around 2150)  
* Autopsy report on Borg specimen #MH2 (dated around 2160)

_Current destination: Deep Space 4 for repairs before proceeding with the exploration, as per your orders. The body is in stasis and ready to be transferred to Earth._

_Off the record, because you asked for my opinion:_

_Personally, I see them as a worse threat to the safety of the Federation than Romulans and Klingons combined, because of two factors:_  
a) Instant technology upgrade after assimilation of a new species, with increasing efficiency. Their technological advancement ratio could become exponential!  
b) Driven solely by the desire for technological advancement, all members of the species are connected and work together much like a bee hive, and on a similar level of consciousness. They have no feelings, no concept of morality, mortality, family ties or pain of others. There's no way to bargain – or even to communicate – with them.

_I hope our material is enough for your scientific advisors to come up with a theory as to why the Borg seem to have stopped their exploration of the Alpha Quadrant roughly a hundred years ago. Might be because of the Typhon Expanse – not worth passing through it. On the other hand, that doesn't explain their attempted strike on the Enterprise lately._

_If we come into contact with them again, I think it's absolutely mandatory to stop them as early as possible in their expansion. I see two ways:_  
a) Aside from having assimilated persons of various species, the Borg are basically a technological monoculture. One virus might be enough to stop them.  
b) It might be possible to restore individuality of assimilated persons, which would destroy the system from within.

_If done well, Starfleet should be able to solve the problem without any military conflict._

_~Esteban_

*

From Adm. Pike, SFHQ to Cpt. Esteban of the Lexington

_Also off the records:_

_I'm in complete agreement with your analysis. However, the implied solutions are unlikely to be implemented without major – and so far non-existing - support from within the Federation._

_Good luck with the further exploration of the sector. I'm looking forward to your next report._

_P.S. Congratulations on the birth of your daughter, Joe. Take care and Godspeed._

_~CP_

About to press the button for delivery, Pike stops and re-reads his message. _Non-existing support_ – what a euphemism. Set aside the fact that the existence of the Borg is only known to selected circles at the moment, even those persons have not yet understood that the Borg are not just another sentient species with which to establish diplomatic contact. The Borg don't even _have_ a concept of diplomacy. But the suggested solutions would be considered preemptive strikes by means outside of the Interstellar Convention of Space Warfare of 2244, and it is unlikely they'd get the necessary majority in the Federation council.

Unless… Pike flips through his messages. Ever since being promoted to admiral, he's received a multitude of invitations to receptions, balls and ceremonies. He picks one from the Tellarite embassy, reading the address "To Adm. Pike and Wife" with an ironic smile. It conjures an image of Kirk and McCoy in short dresses and high heels - nothing they'd ever played with, but both men have nice legs and maybe they should do it next time they're on Earth... well, in a year maybe.

Pike reads some more invitations, picking a few whose guests might be especially helpful in his potential future campaign for a preemptive strike against the Borg.

He almost can't believe that he's sitting here, planning a techno-biological warfare.

*

The alleys are dark when Pike walks out of the building late that night, the area in the usual shadows. It's good to take a few steps over the Academy grounds, the air fresh and clearing his mind. Debating of making a little detour to one of the small bars in the vicinity, he passes one of the statues when he hears an unusual sound and halts his steps to listen.

The first blow hits Pike out of the blue, something hard between his shoulder blades, and he tumbles from the impact. Then decades of training pay off and his body follows the flow of energy, making a dive roll forward and slightly to the side to bring him out of the danger zone. Something creaks suspiciously in his spine, but then he's on his feet again and turns to face his surprised attacker.

It's a young man, shorter and thinner than Pike, with long hair and dressed in fashionable but crumpled clothes. The large club in his hand would've been enough to seriously injure Pike, but from the instable position and the gaping mouth of the man, he instantly sees that there's little danger.

"Who are you?" Pike orders authoritatively, and the boy – _yeah, really a boy, and obviously drunk_ – falters.

"I'm Raol."

"And you happen to be who?"

"I'm Dael's brother," the boy blurts out. "And I don't like what I hear about you, so keep away from her!"

"I didn't know she had a brother," Pike states surprised, chiding himself for not having gotten her full information unlocked like he'd planned. He'll do that first thing tomorrow - but right now he'd have to take care of this kid.

"I didn't know about you," Pike says, a little more gently but still firm, and makes one step forward.

The boy frowns. "She must have told you about me."

"She never said a word about you, and her family information is under privacy lock." Pike takes in the slightly desperate expression in the boy's face. "Why don't we have a drink together, you and I, and speak about the things you have in mind? Like civilized people tend to do."

"A drink…?" the boy shakily asks.

Pike takes the club out of the boy's hand. Now that he's closer, he can see the tell-tale layer of make-up on the young features. It makes sense that both siblings would have the same pattern, which apparently means so much to them that they'd rather stay visual outcasts than have it removed.

"A drink, Raol. I know a nice bar, not far away from here. Come with me." The boy follows him like a puppy, keeping on babbling in his slightly slurred voice. "She must have said something. I mean, I'm her brother. I'm the only one she's got. Besides Charlie, maybe."

"Charlene Rogers, her roommate."

"Her woman," the boy states, the expression vaguely between proud that Dael is seeing someone and hurt by the fact that his sister would be a lesbian. "Charlie doesn't like you. Doesn't like the way Dael hangs out with you all the time."

"And so she sent you over to me with a club?" Pike asks.

"No – no, of course not," the boy admits. "She's a cadet and you're an admiral. They'd all crawl in the dirt for you. But I won't! I'm not your subordinate. I don't have to be nice to you."

Pike shakes his head as he opens the old-fashioned door of the _Casablanca_ bar to the boy. "You don't have to obey my orders, but I'd appreciate you'd stay away from beating up people who annoy you."

"Well – yeah," Raol mutters and slumps down behind a table in the corner. "But I don't like it either. All that talk about you..."

Pike waves the bartender and orders two cokes. He's not so sure anymore if the boy is actually drunk, but he seems to have taken something and Pike's not going to risk giving him real alcohol. Then he turns back to Raol. "Would it put your mind to rest if I told you that besides from not being sexually interested in cadets thirty years my juniors, I'm not interested in women?"

"Uh." The boy squints at him. "What is it with Starfleet, are you all queer or what?"

"The Academy tends to have a slightly higher rate than the normal Earth population, but it's not like we make it a mandatory quality." Pike leans back, one hand on the table. "Your sister became my protégée on the personal wish of Admiral Nogura, who happens to know the chairman of the IDIC Foundation. He thought I might be helpful in her overcoming some adaptation problems. We meet biweekly for talking about her courses and her plans for the next two weeks, and I'm a relay in case of any misunderstandings between her instructors and her. That's all of my role in her life."

"And that training course? Where you got hurt or something?"

"I was instructor there by chance, having stepped in as a last minute substitute. There was a technical malfunction. She came to rescue me against my explicit orders. She probably saved my life but surely my health by doing so."

"Hmm." The boy takes a sip from his freshly delivered coke. "That's why Charlie's so jealous?"

"I never talked to Charlie, and she never talked to me, so I don't know."

"Well, I do," the boy says brashly. "Dael doesn't speak a lot about you, but when she does, it's… I dunno. She admires you. She wants to make everything right for you. And not just because she's a cadet and you're an admiral. You say jump? She'd jump."

"If I ever say jump, I would do so in an official capacity on a mission, and then I definitely would expect her and anyone else under my command to do as I say," Pike states firmly.

The boy stares at him, then nods. "Okay. Okay." He downs the coke.

"Can you find your way back to wherever you're staying?" Pike asks, hoping it's not some asylum in the city – it would fit, judging by the ragged looks of the boy.

"Staying in her dorm right now. I should – eh, maybe…"

"I'll give her a call," Pike says, whipping his comm. out so quickly that the boy doesn't have a chance to say no.

"Cadet Dael? I happen to have a young man here who can't find his way back home. Maybe you should retrieve him - we're sitting in the _Casablanca_."

Ten minutes later spent with chit-chat, a visibly humiliated cadet stands in the door. "Sir – is everything all right?" Dael stares at Pike's uniform, where Pike knows there are some dark stains from his roll on the ground.

"Yes, cadet," Pike says and gets up, keeping the club out of her sight. "Your brother only wanted to make my acquaintance."

"I see," she says, and her glare at her brother tells him that she's angry, but not really surprised about his state.

"Please take him with you."

"Sir," she starts a little nervously, "regulations state that no visitors -"

"I called his sister to get him. I don't care where he stays," Pike says firmly, and slightly pulls her aside. "Take care of him. If you want to talk about him, you're welcome, but I won't ask."

Dael nods. "You ordered him a drink? Let me pay it."

Pike shakes his head. "The cokes go on me." The devil he'll take even half a credit from a poor student.

"Sir –"

"Dismissed, cadet," Pike clips.

"Yes, Sir," the girl relents and waves at her brother. "Come on, Raol. Let's go." With unsteady steps, the boy walks up to her. On their way out, Pike can hear her berating him in a language vaguely sounding like Romulan. He shakes his head, wondering once again what he's gotten himself in with this protégée.

*

Despite his determination to let the subject rest, having Dael on his visitor chair for their usual appointment ten days later changes Pike's mind. She's visibly exhausted and strangely hunched over in her seat, the PADD so close to her face that she couldn't possibly read the letters.

"Put the PADD down," Pike orders five minutes into their meeting. Her head jerks up, giving him an eyeful of a darker smudge on her right cheek. It could be some leftover cream, but from the way she turns away and tries to avoid his gaze, he knows better.

"I said, put down the PADD. Now, cadet."

With a quiet curse on her lips, she puts it into the table and stiffly sits up, clamping her hands around the arm rests and meeting his eyes with a defiant look.

"Who beat you? Cadet Rogers?" he asks.

"No."

"Then who?"

Tightening her lips, she gives him a cold stare but he only stares back.

"Raol," she says at last, deflating a little over the name. "But he only managed one blow before I got him under control."

"He's still staying with you?"

"Not any longer." Raising her chin, she states, "I threw him out. He stole all our money to pay his drugs, even sold a few of my things. _Novae Dust_ is expensive." Her slightly shaking voice belays the emotionless way in which she delivers the statement.

_Novae Dust_. Pike has heard about that newest cocaine derivative, popular among young people.

"Did he ever try withdrawal therapy?"

"I'm not sure _he_ ever tried," Dael replies bitterly. "_They_ have tried on New Vulcan, but nothing changed anything. He's addicted to drugs since forever, and when it's not _Novae Dust_, it's _Angel Hair_ or _Brute Force_ or anything else he can get his hands on." Her fingers mechanically brush over the bruise in her face. "I always tried to be there for him. He's the only one I have left, and it's tearing me apart that I can't help him. But the Academy is my only chance to do something with my life and I can't let him take that away from me. I can't."

Noticing that she's bordering on some nervous breakdown, Pike intervenes by calmly stating, "First of all, there is no danger of you being removed from the academy, cadet, although you should see to it that there are no drugs left in your dorm room."

She nods.

"Then, one universal truth of humans is that nobody can be saved who does not want to be saved. It is always the inner motivation that makes the difference, and as long as your brother doesn't come around on his own, no therapy will have any effect."

She nods again with a little sigh.

"That being said, if he decides he wants to do more with his life than just getting high, tell him to contact me and I'll see if we can figure something out. It's not an offer I make for everyone, but he might be worth a try."

"I'll tell him when I speak to him the next time. He was rather impressed by you – maybe it would make him think."

"Maybe." Pike smiles a little. "He wouldn't be the first young offender who turned into a valuable officer later." He eyes her uniform that looks even more loosely fitting than normal. "I gather you haven't eaten much over the last days. See that you get something from the cafeteria after this meeting."

Seeing her hesitation, he suddenly remembers her statement about being robbed out of her few possessions. "Do you need some credits?"

"I don't want your money," she snaps, adding a belated "Sir" to ease the impact.

"No protégée of mine will sit in class with an empty stomach," Pike states firmly. "One hundred credits, and it's a loan you will pay back to me."

"I can't pay it back. The stipendium is barely enough to cover my costs. I can't save anything."

"How about getting a job?"

Her lips draw into a small, sad smile. "I tried, sir. But who gives a job to a freak that doesn't know anything useful." The words are bitter, full of self-contempt.

Pike can instantly think of many possibilities for her in Federation offices or the Vulcan embassy, but she needs not just a job, but an emotionally supportive environment and that will be harder to find. He could imagine her working behind the bar counter of his club but Nogura would have his balls if –

Hit by a sudden idea, he says, "I'll see what I can do for you," and leaves it at that, finishing off the meeting by going through her schedule with her, which calms and refocuses her.

When the cadet leaves, Pike moves to his console to make a call.

*

"Nice to see you, Chris," Arissa says, showing him into the back office of her still-closed club four weeks later. "You're looking good. Anything to drink?"

He accepts a coke and settles in a large, old armchair, crossing one leg above the other. Arissa sits down on the edge of the table. She hasn't changed much since he's last seen her a few years ago - still short and nicely curved, with a bunch of long black curly hair around her leather-clad body. He appreciates beauty when he sees it, though he'd always been more impressed by her intense and no-compromise way of living. She has a reputation of being trying, but he never had a problem with her. Her club Silver Barracuda is a little larger than his own and on the other end of the queer spectrum, the uncontested top location of the lesbian and associated genders scene of San Francisco for the last ten years.

"When you called me about her, I really wasn't sure how to react. I don't have to tell you how important it is to have the right people at the bar, and from your description, she didn't sound like the right girl, queer or not."

Pike nods, completely agreeing.

"But when she showed up here, I was... well, a little impressed. She showed me her tattoos and told me she badly needs a job, and I figured I'll give it a try."

"And?"

"In the first week, she barely opened her mouth, only kept in the back and learned how to mix drinks. Then a few of the girls managed to engage her in talk. By now, I guess half of my guests have developed a tattoo fetish." Arissa rolls her eyes. "She's damn hot in the right clothes."

"So you think it is an successful experiment?"

"From my side, yes. She's still rather reserved but when she smiles, it's like getting a glimpse behind her cover. She's intriguing. However, she also caused a bit of trouble because her girlfriend showed up one evening and made a scene. I threw her out – the girlfriend, I mean."

"Charlie."

Arissa shrugs. "Never got to know her name. The next day, Dee – that's what she uses as nick here – came to me and told me that her girlfriend wouldn't give me any more trouble. I figured they separated. I kept an eye on her to see if she picked up any of the guests, but she didn't." She gets a cup of coffee from the table behind her and takes a sip. "So, how's the experiment going on your side?"

"Very well," Pike replies. "Working here seems to have a very positive effect on her social behavior. She's more relaxed and self-confident. Charlie had been her roommate but moved out a week ago, claiming incompatibility. She's been assigned the room of a resigned student."

"Good thing Dee got rid of her. That girl seemed a little passive-aggressive in her behavior." Arissa scratches her scalp in thoughts, her mane of hair stirring from the movement. "Sometimes I'm really surprised what kind of people SFA accepts. Of course, most are okay, but others... I thought you thoroughly test the cadets."

"We do, but you know that tests are never enough to characterize someone. And I've got to admit that being fit for space isn't necessarily the same as being fit for a job on Earth. Starfleet members are often a little special; otherwise they wouldn't have a reason to go into space."

"You sound like you're talking from experience. What was your reason?" she asks curiously.

He only shakes his head, emptying his bottle.

"Ah, sorry for asking," Arissa says, waving it off. "In any case, she can keep the job if she wants to. She told me she's got a lot of tests soon and might have to reduce her workload in the club."

"That's true. But I hope she'll keep working here. It's a nice change to receive calls from her instructors because she's doing so well in class." Pike places the bottle aside. "I've got to go. If anything unusual happens, drop me a note."

"Sure." She shows him out the main door. The club is about to open, and the gathered crowd parts for him, the outsider. He recognizes a face or two from his own club, and one whip-carrying woman waves at him, although he can't remember who that might be. Then he's out in the night air, taking a deep breath and burying his hands in his pockets. The night is still young; he could hit his own club or someone else's, have some meaningless sex and a drink afterwards.

He starts to think like John, he realizes, a little disgusted. Although he's not a big fan of public transportation, he takes the magtrain. When it gathers speed, it's so fast that the sparkling city lights smudge into lines of light, looking surprisingly similar to warp patterns. It makes him stay in the train for two rounds around the city, thinking of the doc and Jim way out in space, before he finally descends and goes back to his office, working through the night.

*

It's two weeks later that Dael arrives for a regularly scheduled meeting in his office with a large envelope in her hand.

"I've got something for you, sir," she says and gives it to him. "I know it's a little unusual, but –"

"Pictures?" he asks as he eyes inside, then pulls them out. "Erotic photographs," he says surprised when he sees the black-and-white shots, her tattooed stomach and head from various angles, half-turned towards the lens, everything else in darkness. It's a first that he receives something like that from a protégée and the professional part of his brain knows this is very inappropriate, but Pike has got to admit that all photographs are beautifully done. The play of lights and shadows over the curved pattern is tastefully erotic and not pornographic at all - whoever took them had perfectly captured her exotic beauty.

"The main photographer of the _Magic Eye_ asked me if I wanted to pose for her, and I agreed."

"The famous fetish magazine? I'm impressed. Will they get published?"

"Yes, in the next volume." She blushes a little.

"Why do you want to give them to me?" Pike asks.

She hesitates. "I researched your back story after our first talk, and feared the day when you'd see the tattoos. But you simply acknowledged them, and never changed the way you treated me. And then you recommended me to the club and I met other people who accepted me. It changed a lot for me. These shots are a part of that change."

"They are truly a piece of art," he says seriously. "Thank you for showing them to me. But I cannot accept them, cadet." He puts them back into the envelope and gives it back to her over the table.

"I understand, sir." Dael puts it aside, then gets out her PADD. They delve into her assignments for the next two weeks and review her current grades before moving on to her plans for the next semester. She leaves after an hour, and it's only when the next visitor arrives that he notices that the envelope is still there.

_Sly kid_, Pike thinks amused as he picks it up and battles with himself as to whether to lock up the pictures in his office or to accept the gift after all and take it home.

When he drops the envelope into his briefcase, his internal debate - _she's adult, it's simply art, and she's a woman, so there's no danger at all_ – leaves him with an almost clear conscience.

It's still time for some distraction, he decides, so he calls Farnham and makes a date for later tonight.

*

_"Hello, my beautiful lovers. You might be surprised to receive a recording from me from this address, but I'm currently out in the wild and attending Nat's and Robert's wedding, and Nat graciously allowed me using her console for a moment. The white wine and beer are pleasantly cold, the buffet is a blast, the music is achingly old-fashioned and the guests are half farmers, half fleet and don't mix well at all. I'm glad you're not here because there are too many people who could tell you humiliating stories of my youth. _

_"On the other hand, with you here, the evening would be a lot more fun. I miss you a lot. But I'm also glad that you're finally back to meaningful missions, so I'm not complaining. Only a little, maybe._

_"I'll have a drink to your health and success. Love and kisses and Godspeed, till next week – Chris._

Pike frowns as he stops the recording. He sounds a little too maudlin for his own taste, which comes from the alcohol and the frustration of watching happy newly-weds clinging too each other for far too long. And maybe from meeting too many old friends who mirror his own aging back at him painfully clearly. He eyes his face in the screen, running one finger over his increasingly wrinkled chin.

There's a brief knock on the door before Farnham peeks his head in. "You're done?"

"In a second." Pike encodes the message and sends it out.

"A message to them?" Farnham asks conversationally as they walk back to the main hall with the dance floor.

"Yes."

Farnham is about to lace his arm into Pike's when a middle-aged woman quickly approaches them from the side. "He's mine for this dance," she says and captures Pike's hand.

"He's mine tonight." Farnham challenging glares at her. Pike laughs. As if that would stop Commander Caren Cho, the top engineer of their year, a formidable force despite her tiny Asian figure, and now in charge of the newest Utopia Planitia terminal.

"I know, and I don't want to steal him. But I couldn't speak a word with Chris yet, and I'll have to leave in ten minutes. So do me a favor and flirt with someone else for a while. There's that bear type at the bar that looks lonely."

"I don't like bears," Farnham grumbles but looks anyway while Pike obediently follows Cho onto the dance floor.

"So, you and John…?"

"Not really." He shrugs.

"Good. Don't think it would really work. He's no comparison to the _Enterprise_ men." She squints at him.

Pike sighs as he expertly circles her through the crowd. "Did you only want to ask me about some rumors, or are you going to talk about anything meaningful?"

"Sorry, Chris. I was just so curious." She lowers her voice a little. "I'm Renata Ochi's girlfriend."

"And that might be who?"

"Ochi. Doctor Ochi. She worked with Doctor McCoy on the _Enterprise_ for a few weeks."

"Oh." He suddenly remembers the recording. "That doctor. And there I always thought Jim would be the one talking in bed."

"I fear men are all the same… get them off and they're putty in your hand." She twinkles at him.

"Words of wisdom." They fall into the rhythm of the dance floor, one moving mass. "Since when are you into women anyway?"

"I swing in every way that's fun," Cho replies. "It's the Academy's fault, really. I was a tame, straight girl before the housewarming party."

"The housewarming party?"

"Yeah. Don't you remember? When Sheila and what's-her-name decided to introduce everyone in the first semester to the secrets of Orion aphrodisiacs?" She frowns at him, before her gaze suddenly clears. "You were ill! I remember it. You were one of the few who weren't there because you'd been sick as a dog from a cold that night."

"I forgot all about it."

"Well, I didn't." She giggles, which makes her sound thirty years younger on the spot. "They were fabulous! It was a total mass orgy. They even could convert John into some heterosexual sexing, and I'd always thought he's one-hundred-fifty percent gay."

"John had sex with Orion girls?" Pike asks, a little disbelieving.

"Actually, I think he's still having some when he can get it. But you didn't hear that from me. We all swore to silence in the morning. Damn, even a few pictures of that night could kill illustrious careers today!"

"Well, not mine, as I wasn't there," Pike says, amused.

"Good or bad for you, depending on the view point." She smiles. "You know – if you ever reconsider your own sexual orientation, feel free to knock on my door."

"Unlikely, Caren," Pike replies, not insulted by yet another flirtatious attempt from his old friend – if anything, maybe a little flattered that she's still crushing on him after all those years. "I guess your cab is here," he says as he sees a man wildly waving at the edge of the dance floor. She sighs.

"Oh, damn. And there I thought we could speak a little longer. I heard you're in charge of a top-secret task force that's considering having a new ship class built on UP. If that's true, I want this construction on my terminal."

"If I hear anything, I'll give you a call," Pike promises as he leads her to the waving guy.

"Take care." Cho kisses his cheek and tousles his hair – which he hates – and then launches into the crowd. He combs through his hair with his fingers, trying to restore his look.

"My turn," Farnham says and pulls him back onto the dance floor.

"So – Orion girls?" Pike asks as they dance some permutation of the slow fox, hands on each other's hips, queer style, because none of them wants to yield the leading part.

His friend raises a brow. "Let me guess – Caren talked."

"Not enough."

Farnham shrugs as he gathers a little speed, pulling Pike closer. "They're my guilty pleasure, once in a while. Absolutely fabulous sex. Make you forget that they don't have a dick. You should try it one day – we could book a team."

Pike frowns in slight disgust. "I'm not into paid sex."

"Maybe they'll take you for free," Farnham states with a wink. "Orions like to introduce virgins of all kinds to the pleasure of creative sex."

"I don't think I'm missing anything," Pike says. "It's just funny that the old Spock alluded to my other self having a fetish for Orion girls. Guess my counterpart attended the housewarming party in its full glory."

The mention of Spock has a similar effect on Farnham that it has on McCoy. "I see," his friend states blankly and determinedly leads them through the moving crowd to the next bar.

"Danced enough?" Pike asks as they stop in front of it.

"Just need a drink."

*

It's two hours, six drinks and quite a few dances later, and they're almost the last couple in the room. It's got to be some kind of strange foreplay, Pike judges as they move left and right with eyes half-closed, foreheads and groins touching, hands tightly on each other's hips. He's achingly aroused, every shifting contact of their bodies electrifying him further.

"Let's go," Pike murmurs.

"Not yet," Farnham replies. His fingers dig into Pike's waistband, edging out the shirt and scratching over his skin.

"Not here," Pike mutters, reminded of Jim and wondering why he always seems to end up with exhibitionists. The fingers don't stop, of course, and he finally takes control and gets them off the dance floor and around the first corner that's out of sight of the other guests.

The energy spontaneously combusts in kissing, quickly escalating to an almost violent groping as they battle for superiority. It ends with Farnham tightly pressed against the wall, Pike ravishing his mouth.

"Fuck," Farnham groans as he releases him.

"Walk on. We've got a room." There are stops on the way as they use some more corners for more groping, legs laced into each other with the need for optimal contact, and Pike is more than relieved when they are finally in their room, hoping that nobody took a picture of them on the way upstairs. He shoves Farnham back onto the bed and crouches over him, using his knees to spread his friend's legs. Seconds later he's all but humping him, his blood-filled erection pressing against the other large bulge.

"Fuck me," Farnham mutters.

"You sure?" They have never done that, having always settled for the more equal options.

"Yeah. Come on."

They undress quickly, the expensive clothes carelessly ending up on the floor. There's lube on the night stand, and Pike leans over and fists his friend with one, then two fingers while tongue-fucking his mouth. He's not surprised that Farnham is rather tight; he's never assumed that John bottoms a lot.

"Come on," Farnham moans anyway after a few minutes. "Fuck me already." His hands are rubbing over Pike's chest and ass, groping everything they can latch upon. He pulls up his legs, making more room for Pike to maneuver.

_Still damn tight_, Pike thinks when he cautiously nudges his dick into John's ass, but his resolve to be careful is quickly eaten away by the way his friend pushes against him until he's buried to the hilt. He starts riding him, expertly rolling his hips for optimal stimulation, and is pleased to see John coming undone underneath him.

"Yeah, fuck, yeah... ah, love you, Chris. Love you."

It could be one of those statements that happen in the heat of things, but there's something in the way John clings to him, something in the ring of the words that causes a sudden epiphany in Pike – it's the missing piece to the question as to why his friend never really lost contact over all the years. It makes Pike's stride falter for a moment but then his body takes over, demanding completion. He comes first, then fists his friend to orgasm before slipping out and sagging to his side. Farnham sighs as he lowers his legs and stretches out on his back.

"Since when?" Pike asks after a while.

Farnham raises a brow in question.

"Since when are you in love with me?"

Farnham smiles sleepily, a little sardonically. "Since forever, I guess. With ups and downs in between."

There's silence between them before Pike asks, "Nat knows?"

"Nat knows since the Academy. Met me one evening in a bar when I was trying to drown my jealousy of that secret lover of yours." Farnham turns around to face him. "But it's not like I've been waiting for you. After the Academy, you went on assignments, and when you came back for Recruitment, I was seeing someone and you met Alain. And when you came back after the Narada, you weren't really _back_. You kept away from almost everyone. I tried a few times, then gave up. Took George's son to get you out of that damn shell. Strange leap of fate."

"It was more McCoy, really," Pike says, a little annoyed. "And while I challenged Jim to join Starfleet because he was George's son, it's got nothing to do with our relationship."

His friend shrugs. "If you say so."

"John… I like you, but I don't love you and never did."

"I know, and I don't expect anything from you. Handled it fine so far. But you know how humans are; some feelings are hard to switch off."

"I know. Like… I still can't really trust you anymore."

"Good choice. You shouldn't." Farnham grins. "But believe me – if need be, I'm ready to cover your back and ass."

"Not sure that's a calming thought."

"You might think differently when you need it."

Pike shakes his head a little. "Think I'll see if I find another room for tonight," he says and gets up to dress.

"Come on, Chris – " Farnham says tensely. "Nothing's changed."

"It's changed for me, and I've got to think about it." He dislikes relationships in which the people involved are not on the same page about what they want from each other, and the realization that he's been completely blind to John's feelings for so long rattles him in his core.

Farnham snorts, and, as if reading his mind, says, "You didn't consider my feelings for ages, and now you've got a guilty conscience? Way to go, Christopher."

"Never too late to start having one, I guess."

"You know what your problem is?" Farnham snaps. "Did you ever think about why you mostly had short assignments? Your crews might have admired you, flourished under you. Traumatized crews work better with a professional, cool, detached guy in the center seat. But they never loved you, because you never loved any of them. That's your problem. You never really loved in your whole damn life. And that's got nothing to do with Alain, and all with yourself. Even now you're all latching onto people who are away most of the time. You do everything to keep everyone an arm's length away."

It's not like Pike doesn't know about these aspects. He's read one or two of his psyche profiles, thank you very much, but getting them slapped into his face like this is making him surprisingly angry, a hot white anger that makes him ball his fists. With effort, he goes back to dressing.

"Thanks for your frank opinion, John," he states flatly and starts walking to the door. He's not surprised when Farnham comes after him, catching him.

"You're such a blind idiot," his friend snarls at him, hands buried in his crumpled shirt. "Sometimes I wish I'd never have met you. You still think I'm writing reports about our conversations? I stopped doing that. Nothing we speak of ever leaves the room."

"What a relief, John. Get your hands off me."

"Damn, Chris –" Lips are pressed on his, hot and intense, and a tongue tries to sweep into his mouth. Pike doesn't want to give in but there's something in the touch that catches him by surprise, a sincerity and despair he's never connected to Farnham. The answering, strange mix of feelings warring inside of him, anger and sympathy and too much attraction, weakens his resolve. His tense lips yield at last, allowing Farnham to deepen the kiss. His hands automatically reach around his friend's waistline, pulling them closer together.

When they part, they're both breathing hard.

"Don't leave, Chris. Please."

The heartfelt plea makes Pike's skin crawl - the best reminder why he really, really should leave, because he can't be what John wants. Unlacing his hands, he says, "I need to think. I'll be back later."

He turns and walks out.

*

The breaking morning finds Pike sitting on the fence, literally and figuratively, curling his hands in his lap. It's cool and he's tired and his ass hurts, but he doesn't want to go inside yet, because he's rarely felt less ready to face something head on.

"Hey, old man," someone calls him, and he turns his head, willing his tired eyes open to meet the gaze of his as-good-as-nephew. Like always, Tom looks achingly energetic and awake, his tall, muscular body moving in a grace that's unusual for most farmers.

Pike cares a lot about the boy, and while they don't talk often these days, he's always at ease with him. "Tom. Shouldn't you be in bed?"

"Could ask you the same." Tom draws close, eying the fence. "Is that seat free?" He points to Pike's left.

"Sure."

Pike watches Tom climb up. The mystery of why he appeared gets solved when Tom pulls out a package and rolls a cigarette. "Don't tell my wife," Tom says as he lights it. "Want one too?"

"I hate that stuff," Pike says. "But I could use one anyway." Tobacco is illegal but still common, and when Tom offers the lit butt, he takes a deep puff which promptly ends in a coughing fit.

"It's been a while," Pike explains when he can speak again.

"I usually smoke one in the morning and one in the afternoon," Tom admits. "Always take care that the family doesn't see it." He glances at Pike. "You look unhappy. Trouble with John?"

"Trouble's possibly the wrong word," Pike says slowly, taking another pull.

"I would never pretend to understand you," Tom starts, taking Pike a little by surprise. "You were the strange uncle out in space, sending strange things and telling strange stories when you were on Earth, which was rare enough. But I always thought that you do exactly what you want to do, even if that meant missing some things. Like... having a family." He sheds another glance at Pike.

"Your point...?"

"I don't see a reason why you should allow anyone to interfere with your choices now. You've got to be satisfied, not _them_. It's your life."

Pike shakes his head in thought. "On the one hand, you're right. On the other hand... they are practically my family."

"And families always think they can interfere."

"Yes."

They smoke in silence for a moment.

"It was interesting to get to know them," Tom says out of the blue. "Kirk and McCoy."

Hearing their names is like pouring oil into the flames of Pike's smoldering reflections on what he really wants and how much of a compromise he could and should live with, but his detached voice doesn't reveal any of his tension. "Glad to hear that. They didn't tell me a lot about their stay at your farm."

"Mom did most of the talking. Kirk was playing silly games with the kids. McCoy was amicable and managed to evade all of mom's inquisitive questions about your relationship. Told her some adventure stories instead, made her feel like still being a part of Starfleet. She loves that." Tom takes a puff. "For maybe a minute, I wondered if I should've gone to space after all, but I don't think I would've been good enough."

"Don't sell yourself short, Tom. I'm sure you would've managed just fine."

"Thanks for thinking that of me. I know you would've supported me if I had wanted to attend the Academy. It means a lot to me." Tom's gaze drifts out to the desert. "If I had joined Starfleet, I would've tried to be as good as my father – and you, and I would've failed. It speaks for Kirk that he managed to live with that burden."

"Jim is a very special man," Pike says, and this time, he's unable to keep the longing out of his voice. For the fraction of a second, an image crosses his mind, Jim and him sitting on the fence and watching the sunrise together. It's sweet and romantic and absolutely pointless because Pike would never have met Jim the farm boy – and if he had, he wouldn't have been interested in him. With a sharp twist of his head, Pike returns to reality.

"See, that's what I meant. I –" Tom stops, and Pike looks up to see a figure drawing close.

"It's John," Tom says unnecessarily. "Guess I better leave. Good luck, old man." He jumps down and walks away with a friendly nod to Farnham.

Pike rubs his face with one hand, stifling a yawn. When he opens his bleary eyes again, Farnham is right in front of him.

"Chris - come back to bed."

With a sigh, Pike puts his arms left and right on John's shoulders, pulling him a little closer. "I used you, John, and I didn't reflect on it one bit."

Farnham grins. "I used you and I knew it."

"Not sure what's worse." Their foreheads touch, and Pike can feel gentle hands caress down his sides. His body has a very definite opinion on the matter – _bed, sleep, sex in the morning_ – while his mind is more than torn. He's longing for something he cannot have at the moment, and unsure whether settling for a suboptimal option that has the potential to destroy one of the oldest friendships in his life is a good idea. But right now, he's too tired to fight.

"Come on." Fingers invitingly stroke his neck just below the hairline.

"Nothing promised," Pike murmurs.

"I never asked for a promise." Farnham pulls him into a kiss, wet and hot. "I'm a greedy bugger who takes everything he can get. And a bit more." The hands move down to stroke over the inner sides of Pike's legs.

Pike sighs as a hot flush rushes through him. Damn his traitorous body. "I changed. I didn't know how to handle love in the past but I know love now. At times I wish I didn't."

"I know. I'm sorry for what I said. But you shouldn't let love get in the way of good sex." Farnham captures Pike's lower lip with his teeth, gently sucking it while his fingers cause havoc between Pike's legs.

"Bastard," Pike mutters when his lips are free again, his bulge straining against the cool fabric of his elegant pants.

"Yes."

Farnham's arms capture him as he slips down the fence, his legs stiff and unsteady. They walk back to the house together and end face to face on the bed, exchanging sloppy, tongue-fucking kisses while jerking each other off. They come together, hot and messy all over their hands, just having energy left enough for a brief cleansing before they fall asleep.

*

"Heard you had an interesting weekend, Pike."

It's definitely not a good moment for being talked to, given that Pike is on his back and lifting a barbell on the limit of his strength. With a groan, he returns it onto the pins, already regretting that he's chosen to workout in the admiralty's gym today because he didn't have time to go anywhere else. He sits up on the bench, briefly pulling his already wet shirt up to his forehead to dry his sweat before facing his colleague.

"Barnett – any important reason to disrupt my routing?" Pike asks. They'd been on first name terms since forever, but since the thing with the Borg tapes, Barnett's reportedly rather condescending statement in front of half the admiralty, and the way Barnett had angered Pike enough to push him into an unplanned outing, the atmosphere between them is rather arctic.

"Got yourself a new lover, I've heard. Didn't last long with Kirk, eh?" Leaning with one hand against another machine, Barnett looks exactly like the unfit, overweight, old man that Pike never wants to become, the sweat pants too loose and the shirt too tight over a flabby stomach. All vague regrets Pike might have had about his public display of affection with John at the wedding are instantly dispelled by a strong, rekindled annoyance with the man. The gym isn't empty, but if Barnett thinks that would stop Pike from replying accordingly, he's dead wrong.

"Kirk and McCoy know exactly what I do and with whom." Pike gets up from the bench and stands eye to eye with his colleague. "What's your real problem, Barnett? You not getting any?"

"Well, seems you're getting enough for everyone," Barnett states coldly. "You're a fabulous example for our young officers, flaunting your promiscuity at public events."

"It was a private wedding, and the man's been my lover on and off for thirty years." Hands curling into loose fists, Pike straightens a little further. "After our argument about the material, I thought it was just about my actions. But that's not the point, is it? You're one of those people who claim that homosexuality is perfectly all right - as long as they don't have to face it. You actually got a problem with gays, right?"

It's the way Barnett lifts his chin and clenches his jaw that Pike knows he's hit the point.

"Tell you something, Barnett – just as xenophobia is a knock-out criterion for Starfleet, homophobia is too. So if I find out that you're not just harassing me, but also other people who deal with the subject in a way you think is inappropriate, I'll get your ass kicked."

"You're threatening me?" Barnett says, moving a little away from him.

There's a warning voice in the back of Pike's head – Barnett is still the man Kirk has to report to, and he shouldn't completely ruin that working relationship. But on the other hand, Barnett is on the way to becoming a major pain in the ass and that's more than Pike's willing to swallow.

"I'm just stating that I won't accept any more of your not-so-subtle insults, and that I'll keep an eye on you because the way you're talking to me indicates a prejudice regarding sexual preferences, and that's unacceptable."

"You're not the judge of this," Barnett blusters, his face a little whiter than before.

"I'll kindly let an internal commission be the judge of that, if need be," Pike states coldly. "See you around. I've got a few bench presses left to do." He sits down and sinks onto his back, closing his hands around the cool metal rod. From the corner of his eyes, he watches Barnett's leave, taking a deep breath when the man's gone.

"Well-done, sir," a man two benches to his left says, giving him a little salute. Pike nods in acknowledgment, torn between feeling satisfied about having given Barnett a piece of his mind and regretful for making a strained relationship even more strained.

*

It's on the evening two days later when Pike, adorned in full uniform, descends a magtrain and walks down long suburban lanes cluttered with small houses until he reaches his goal. The house in front of him is illuminated, the laughter of children resounding from inside, and for a moment Pike walks up and down the pavement, not looking forward to this visit, but feeling obligated to make it. At last, he walks to the door and rings the bell. It's almost instantly opened by the landlady herself.

"Good evening, Mrs. Esteban," Pike says and shakes her hand.

"Good evening, sir," she says with smile. "Thank you for visiting us. Please, come in."

The household is in a mildly chaotic state, which could be expected from two small children and a baby. He chucks out of his coat and gets introduced to everyone he doesn't know yet –Esteban's sister, who's here to help with the children, and Mrs. Esteban's old mother, who sits in a large arm chair and presides over the living room like a queen.

Between making conversation with the captain's family and entertaining the old lady, he offers himself as the playground for the two-year-old son and tries to lend an ear to the babbling of the four-year-old daughter. It dispels some of his tension to be so readily included into the chaotic, but relaxed atmosphere. There's coffee and tea, bagels and sweets, and some low music in the background that's easily drowned by the children's voices. He's shown the newborn once the girl is awake, and delivers the expected words of praise. He stays for an hour, then gets ready to leave. When Mrs. Esteban is in the kitchen he seizes the moment to have a few private words with her, asking if there's anything he can help with.

"No sir, thank you, sir. My only wish is that Joe will come home alive and healthy," she says, and for a brief moment he gets a glimpse at the sadness behind the oh-so-happy family picture. "I know that even a scientific mission has its risks, but he trusts in you, so I do the same. You wouldn't send him somewhere really dangerous, would you?"

"We always try to minimize the risks," he states, trying not to think of his words to Esteban two months ago.

_"This is a high-risk mission that could take more than two years. I offer it to you because we think you and your crew are the best for this job, but I only take volunteers. You've got a young family –"_

"And I'm a Starfleet officer," Esteban replied instantly. "This is a unique mission, and I'm honored to be offered the command for it. I accept."

"If anything goes wrong… nothing of your ship is to fall into the hand of the Borg. Nothing and nobody." There would be no evacuation – no survivors in a crew of a hundred and fifty. "The Borg are too dangerous to supply them with even the slightest information on humanity."

There was a moment of hesitation, of second thoughts in the captain who'd just celebrated his thirty-fourth birthday. "I understand, sir," Esteban finally said. "I await your mission orders."

Pike had been on the receiving side of similar orders a few times, had even gone as far as to initiate self-destruct twice. There is a strange dichotomy in valuing the life of every single crew member by adhering to the "_nobody left behind_" policy, and still being able to sentence everyone onboard to certain death for a higher good. It's possibly the biggest burden a captain ever has to bear, and after the Narada he hadn't wanted to be in that place anymore. Nogura had offered to talk to Esteban in his stead, but this is Pike's task force and he'd be the one to issue the orders, even if he cleared them with his team. So it was only fair to talk with Esteban in person.

Meeting Esteban's family now, Pike deeply regrets his offer. Neither fathers nor mothers should be out in space, not for missions like his. Esteban is tracking a dangerous species in an area close to the Romulan borders, a region barely charted by the Federation. Even if everything goes right, the man might just come back in time for his youngest daughter's second birthday. He'd never see the baby girl besides on photographs and recordings, never get to see her first steps in reality.

His wife would hopefully never learn that her husband lied to her regarding the mission, and would never fall apart during an official funeral ceremony, would never walk over to Pike to tear his uniform, accusing him of sending her husband on a suicide mission. The visions playing out in Pike's mind are breathtakingly real, reverberations of scenes he's witnessed during other ceremonies. His chest suddenly aching in phantom pain, he repeats his offer for support in case of any needs, and then hurriedly leaves the house, hastening down the darkening streets until he reaches the magtrain for the trip back to the city main station. A readily captured cab soon spills him out in front of a large apartment house, and he travels up to the twentieth level, opening the door with his rarely used key code.

"John?" The apartment is quiet but some of the lights are on, signaling that the owner is at home.

"Hey, Chris!" Farnham appears at the other end of the corridor in all his naked glory, hair a little tousled. "You didn't call, did you? Because I didn't hear anything."

"No, I didn't," Pike says, the pain in his chest still lingering, his lungs hurting as if he'd run a mile.

"Anything wrong?" Farnham asks with a frown as he's in front of him, putting his warm palm on Pike's cheek.

"Just need some company." Pike captures the hand, placing a kiss on the fingers. They smell of shower gel and comfortingly manly.

A flicker of hesitation crosses his friend's face. "I'm not alone," Farnham says with a nod to the bedroom door.

Pike freezes, briefly closing his eyes. "Ah. Of course. Sorry I showed up without calling." He drops the hand. "I'll leave –"

Farnham's hand on his upper arm stops him. "No, you won't," his friend says firmly. "If you need to talk, then I'll get the guy out of the way and we talk. But if you'd rather have some distraction, then join me."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"At least have a look at him. He's blindfolded, he won't see you. Come on." Pike allows himself getting dragged to the bedroom. The lights are low, a few candles burning. On the bed lies a young man, spread-eagled with his wrists and ankles tied to the corners by white ropes, a black scarf wrapped over his eyes. The position emphasizes the guy's well-built muscles and from between his legs, a large erection juts out towards the ceiling.

It _does_ look inviting, Pike has to admit.

"He'd love to have another pair of hands on his body," Farnham whispers. "And since I found him in your club, I think it's only fair to share." He licks along Pike's neck, his hands starting to open the coat. "If you feel like talking afterwards, we'll talk."

One hand moves to his groin, nudging his rather deflated dick through the fabric. Pike takes a deep breath, dark mood and sudden arousal battling for a second, then gives in and strips.

They don't talk that night.

*

"I'm in the city and wanted to visit you," Nat says, her bright face filling Pike's screen. "I've got fruit with me, with best greetings from Tom."

"It's a bad time, I'm almost on my way to the desert."

"I'll be with you in half an hour, Chris." She pokes a forefinger against the tiny communicator cam to underline her point. "I'll see you then."

Seeing his usual time table for Saturday mornings is disrupted, Pike sighs. With a wistful gaze to his already packed bag with the riding boots on top, he goes to kill the time with some paperwork from his endless backlog.

"Knock-knock," Nat says when she walks into his office twenty-five minutes later, a medium-sized box in her hand.

"Full of fruit?" Pike asks when he gets up and takes it. "Might turn foul before I manage to eat them all."

"Feel free to give some to your lovely assistant, who's very good at hindering any attempts to reach you in the office." Nat twinkles.

"I might." Pike shows her to the kitchen, preparing two strong cups of coffee. "So, how's marriage?"

"Great," Nat says.

"You look like it," Pike says, which is pure understatement considering the happy glow on her face. She's dressed a little less organic and more on the fashion side, probably Robert's positive influence, and he wonders if he should tease her about her obvious wrinkle removal, but doesn't. After all, he might end up under the same laser in not too long.

"And you go for a hike every weekend?" she asks

"Pretty much, yes."

"Alone?"

"Got nobody to come with me," he says. "And don't dare to suggest John, he hates the desert. Too hot, too dry, too boring, and horses aren't comfortable enough."

"I know."

"Truth be told, it's good to ride alone." Pike generously puts sugar and milk into her cup before offering it to Nat, trying to ignore her inquisitive gaze.

"Still always without your communicator? If anything happens –"

"I've got an emergency transmitter with me, and if I'm needed that much, they can always locate me and send a shuttle."

Nat makes some non-committal sound. "You're living in extremes right now. Working twelve hours a day all through the week, and then fleeing into the desert. I even heard you've started to attend official receptions. That's so unusual for you."

Pike cradles his cup, meeting her eyes. "Anything wrong with all that?"

"Not sure yet," she answers, taking a sip. "Do you miss them?"

"Who wouldn't?"

She groans. "I hate it when you're like this."

"What would you have me say?" Pike says, a rhetorical question.

"Well, you could really talk to me for a change, Chris. Share the things you've got on your mind…"

As she keeps speaking, his mind suddenly drifts to the last private recording his lovers had sent together. Due to a technical glitch, all he'd received had been the second half of Jim's birthday session. A birthday that is never really celebrated except for a small ceremony for lost comrades on the _Enterprise_, and then the doc spending all day to get Jim's mind off the actual event. It was the heaviest and most intense pain play he'd ever witnessed between the two, the full program of tight bondage, whipping, old-fashioned needles and even cuttings with a knife, Jim's harsh breathing and whimpering moans a heart-breaking layer above all of it. When the doc had fucked Jim into an orgasm at last, it had been wrenched from the captain just as harshly as everything else, more pain than pleasure. The recording had ended quite abruptly and left Pike a little irritated, a disconnected voyeur in a private _Jim&amp;Bones_ scene he hadn't been a part of. Not very helpful for his mood of late.

"Do you even listen, Chris?" Nat suddenly admonishes him, poking his upper arm with her finger.

"Not really," he admits solemnly, emptying his cup. "I really need to get on the road now, Nat. Thanks for your visit."

"All right – I know when I'm getting thrown out." His friend sighs theatrically and slips from the bar stool. "Take care," she says and hugs him. "Don't want to hear about you getting lost in the desert."

"The desert is the least dangerous place for me," Pike says. He manages a smile when she's at the door. "My regards to your husband. I still think he was crazy to sell his apartment, but I'm glad he sold it to me."

"I'll tell him that. See you." She winks and leaves Pike with the pile of fruit and the absolute determination to flee next time she announces a surprise visit on his cherished Saturday morning.

*

His easy words to Nat come back to haunt Pike when he returns late on Sunday evening, finding his console chirping and the communicator that he'd left on the kitchen table wildly blinking in the low lights of the room. With a frown, Pike picks it up and walks into his living room, flopping down on the couch and snapping it open. There have been several calls from his assistant and Komack, spanning from Saturday afternoon until just an hour ago, but none left a message, which leaves him to call Komack.

"Hello, Pike," his colleague says when he picks up the call, mouth full of what Pike surmises to be a late night snack. "Where have you been hiding?"

"Out in the desert, as always," Pike says. "What's the matter?"

"You're mentoring Cadet Dael, aren't you?"

"Yes," Pike replies. A sudden wave of unease rushes over him. "Why?"

"She hasn't been to any class since Thursday – has all but vanished from the face of Earth. No communicator with her, not answering calls. None of her team members knows anything."

Pike briefly closes his eyes, the unease condensing into a tight ball in his stomach. "Thanks for informing me. I'll see what I can do."

"That would be good. Would be a shame if she dropped out for some reason, just when she seems to have finally settled in."

Pike turns his head, looking at the pictures she's given him, the beautiful art shots of her tattooed glory, which he's hung up in a corner. "I'll call you when I know more."

"You better do that. See you tomorrow." Komack ends the call.

Pike changes into his admiral's uniform and coat, deciding that if he went after a cadet, some underlining of his authority might be useful or otherwise someone might call the camp police when he enters her room. There's a special authority key code, it's logged and all necessary persons will know he's been there, and it's the only starting point that comes to his mind right away.

Half an hour later, he's at Dael's dorm. Ever since Charlene Rogers moved out, she's been the single official occupant, her reputation not having invited anyone else to share. When he enters, the light flashes up. The room is in chaos – no, not just chaotic, he thinks as he walks through the things that lie on the floor, scans the piles on the desk – it's messy, dirty, and looks as if she hadn't cleaned for a year. Though with the usual dorm regulations on the campus, that is unlikely.

He looks through the papers on the desk, finding nothing but study material – books, paper notes, PADDs. He goes through her closet, which feels strange but he's just checking whether she packed anything, and it doesn't look like she did. There are few clothes, but he knows most of them from sight and nothing seems to be amiss. It only increases his worries.

Not expecting it to be anything important, he picks up a folded letter from the ground next to her bed, but it unfolds to the copy of a death certificate. On its upper edge is a handwritten note, saying, "_He told me to send you this. _" Of the many words on the certificate, only two are important.

_Raol_ and _suicide by OD_.

Pike heavily sinks down on the bed, his fingers tightening around the edges of the paper as a brief feeling of personal failure hits him. He'd all but forgotten about Dael's brother in the midst of all his work, and now wonders if there's anything he would've been able to do if he had been a little more pro-active regarding this cause.

Useless ponderings, he knows, and folds the paper to put it onto the night stand before leaving the dorm.

Pike goes to speak to her few academy friends, who don't know anything, then drives to the _Silver Barracuda_ to speak with Arissa. Dael hadn't been in for her usual Friday night, and none of the women in the club have a clue where she might be, but they give him the names of other clubs that Dael visits once in a while. He starts with these clubs, then drives around in the city, looking for her in every other club he knows about, every bar that might be to her liking. When he shows his ID to the doorkeepers, he's often directly referred to the owners, but all shake their heads over her description and her official ID shot he shows them.

"You know I don't let in cadets," Joe Mercury tells him when he's in the _Blue Sun_, a club in the outskirts preferred by some alien species because of its complex, layered coloring that makes it look cozy in comparison to human-centric clubs. Mercury is a tall, muscular bear, which makes some people rumor that he's got some Klingon blood in his family line. He's surely a man Pike wouldn't want to encounter in a fight, but he's got his heart in the right place, and the club is clean and has a good reputation. The music, though, is like a constant hammer gnashing against Pike's inner ear – not a place he'd ever stay. But it might be a place for Dael.

"I doubt you look at their IDs," Pike says with a shrug. "And I'm just asking. There's nothing illegal about her being here, it's only that she has a family emergency and nobody can find her."

"What a pity."

They stand at the edge of the dance floor, and somehow Pike seems to get used to the music, because it stops being just aural pain and turns into something actually interesting. He scans the large room, thinking he might hit the club another night when he's not on business.

"Had a fight here lately?" he asks as he notices a broken glass tile in one of the corners.

"Just last night. Some crazy idiots taking on a boy who had Romulan tattoos all over his body. Not something anyone should wear on Earth. Kicked them all out, first the boy, then the idiots." Mercury underlines the story with a rumbling laughter, while Pike suddenly has an epiphany.

"A boy? I doubt that."

"You think that was your cadet?" Mercury vaguely gestures at Pike's pocket. "No way. I could always tell a boy from a girl. Had no hair to boot. Looked right like from the pictures published after that thing with Vulcan. Looked brutal. And the eyes – full of cold anger. Wouldn't have been surprised if he'd had a knife somewhere but my metal detectors are top quality."

"What happened to him?"

"No clue. Got a little banged up though I think that the others got it harder. Vanished in the night."

Pike draws his hand over his lips in thought, wondering if he should get back to the dorm, but it's late and while this is a sign of her, it's still a dead end. He says good-bye to Mercury, promising to show up again on a better day for a chat and some free drinks, then drives back into the city, up and down the beach streets for another hour until he's wiped. He's out of ideas, and the next step would be to inform the authorities, but he instantly dismisses that. They would handle her like a criminal, which she wouldn't take well at all in her current state. There's a light rain over the city now, and it drags his low mood down further.

Suddenly he's in front of his apartment house, where he _never_ parks, and there's a free spot. A few meters by foot in the rain are just the thing he needs, and he walks along the pavement, his hands buried in the pockets of his uniform coat.

It's as if the shadows creep up on him, he thinks as he draws towards the main entry, his steps quickening. His fists balled, he walks to the door, the lights flashing as the motion detector notices him.

He rather feels the body close to his back than sees it, and he wheels around, ready to fight – only to jump back, hitting the doorframe in a panic reaction before being able to parse that this isn't Nero but _her_. He clamps one hand onto the front of his coat, fighting for air.

"Don't ever sneak up on me again," he states, but the words come out weak and fearful.

The cadet has never looked so alien, and he's still fighting his impulse to flee. Her visible skin is a ghostly white compared to the dark lines, and he can't keep from staring at her tattooed, shaven head, the patterns he's never seen before. Her jacket is half-open, nothing beneath it. He wonders if she's been sitting here like that all day and knows she must've hidden somewhere because someone would have called the police.

Pike takes a sharp breath, shaking his head to gain more control, then looks at her again. There's a gnash over one cheek, and her lips look swollen. She doesn't say anything, just keeps looking at him, and he only knows one thing to do.

"Come with me," he says and opens the door. She follows him, and once they're inside in the hall, he gives her another look-over, taking in her battered features and her light limp. He should probably bring her to SF Medical but she must have had a reason to come here, and _hell_ if he's going to give her the feeling of being thrown out.

They ride in the elevator in silence. She doesn't really look at him, but she doesn't avoid his look either. She just seems a little bit out of it all, and he supposes that she didn't have a good meal or a good sleep for the last few days, so once they're in his apartment, he makes her sit down and eat something while he prepares a bath for her. He lays out some clothes; they'd all be too large, but at least they would be comfy and fresh. She eats as ordered, then vanishes in the bathroom for a long time, until he almost feels compelled to check after her. When she comes out, she sits down on the couch. She trembles a little, and he offers her one of the warm extra blankets he'd bought since he entertained his two lovers in his apartment, careful to keep out of her private space.

"Want a coffee? Tea?"

She mutely shakes her head, so Pike sits down on a chair, hands loosely in his lap.

"It's rather late already," he says after they sit in silence for a while. "You can have the couch. It's comfortable. I'll get you all you need."

He goes to his bedroom, collecting some extra bedding.

She's still sitting on the couch when he returns, blankly staring into space.

"Look – I know what happened," Pike says and sits down on the other end of the couch, leaning forward onto his knees with his elbows, folding his hands. "I've found the death certificate. I'm sorry for your brother."

She finally looks at him, her gaze clearing a little. "You said he just might need some time."

"Some people do. Some people get over these phases. Some don't. I didn't know him well, but it's a fact of life that you can't help people who cannot accept that help."

Dael keeps staring at him, her eyes eerie in her tattooed face, her menacingly looking head like a declaration of war to Earth society. He breaks the eye contact and looks down to the floor.

"He was my family. He was all I had left." She sags from her tense posture to the side, leaning her head against the couch's back. She's shaking a little, but there are no actual tears. "Guess I lost him already years ago. I tried so hard to be all he needed," she whispers. "But I was never good enough."

Pike hates platitudes, and knows she hates them too. Which leaves him with little meaningful to say because nothing could fix the loss she's experienced, the big difference between "out of one's life" and "dead forever".

"If you want to visit his grave, I'd come with you," he offers, and it sounds damn lame once the words are out.

"I – don't even know if there is one," she replies.

"We'll find out."

She pulls the blanket closer around her. "I don't know if I'd want to see it."

"Just give it a thought." Pike gets up. "I need to go to bed. You can call in sick tomorrow, if you want to."

"I won't." Dael shakes her head.

"Fine. If you are hungry or anything, help yourself. There isn't a lot in the fridge but it should be enough for tonight." He leaves the light on when he withdraws into his bedroom for a night of rather unsteady sleep.

*

True to her words, Dael gets up and is ready to leave with him the next morning.

"I'll deliver you to your room, so that you can get your uniform," Pike says, cradling his blessed first cup of coffee in his hand as they sit in his kitchen. "But I guess we should do something about your head."

She raises a hand, brushing over her bald patch. "I just felt the need… it's a mourning ritual."

"There's no regulation against it, but I'm not sure how your fellow cadets will handle the sight."

She looks at him, her eyes dismantling his statement. "This is about you. You don't know how to handle it."

He holds her gaze. He'd love to refuse her diagnosis, but he can't. "It's hitting home a little too close for my taste," he admits at last.

"It's still just me." Dael surprises him as she catches his free hand and lifts it up to her forehead. "Touch it." For a second, his palm rests on her head, his fingers drifting over the already re-growing hair – taking in the reality of _her_, compared to bloated, blurred memories. Then he quickly pulls away.

"I -" He struggles for something good to say.

"I don't want to cover it anymore at the academy," she says, and it sounds very definite.

It's something Pike has hoped for a while; now it's on him to find out if _he_ can live with the full sight of her. Her intimidating head tattoos give a bitter-sweet turn to his successful mentorship.

"I hope you can live with this – Sir."

"Of course," Pike says automatically. "It's your decision." He puts down the cup. "Ready for departure?"

"Yes."

He delivers her to her dorm, then goes to his office. It doesn't take long before the first of her instructors calls him, demanding some background information on her tattoos. _It's a cultural inheritance_, he says, _it's covered by regulations_. And _yes, she knows that this might lead to negative reactions and she's ready to face them_.

Dael lets her hair grow back, but the patterns on her face remain visible. The medium-sized earthquake of her apparently Romulan background shakes the academy for some weeks; then nobody speaks about it anymore.

*

It's almost four weeks after Raol's death message that Dael sits in his office and asks, at last, if his offer of visiting the grave with her still stands. Pike has done some research, so he knows where to drive to, and they agree to start early on Saturday morning. He picks her up on a crossroad in the middle of the city – better not be seen by too many students – and heads off south. Somehow it figures that a boy like Raol would choose a dusty, hot city near the Mexican border to die.

Dael wears black denim and a black shirt and an oversized, fake leather jacket, which she tightly clutches around herself. For the first kilometers, she stiffly sits in the co-driver's seat. Then, from the corner of his eyes, he catches her gaze drifting towards him. "What about some music?" she asks reluctantly.

"Sure, switch it on." He's got an old-fashioned radio without voice control, something that confuses most of his passengers, but she instantly knows which button to press to start the radio. Pike chuckles as he sees her frown over the strange sounds that emanate the speakers.

"That's music?"

"That's Station Twenty."

"Twentieth of this century?

"No, twentieth century music," Pike makes clear. "The favorite of a certain spaceship captain." He smiles as he remembers Jim putting in the station on their first day of vacation.

_"That's the ultimate Kirk compatibility test," McCoy said from the back seat as Kirk bent forward to play with the controls of the radio. "You either get used to it, or you stop dating Jim."_

_"Aw, come on, Bones, it's not that bad," Kirk said, about to add something when a screaming sound drowned his voice._

_"See what I mean?" McCoy shouted in Pike's ear._

_"Yes," Pike shouted back, and decided to reset the station as soon as he had a chance._

Months later, the radio is still playing Kirk's favorite music, because even though Pike never really got into it, it's still a piece of Jim somehow, and he didn't have the heart to change the station yet.

"It's… unusual," Dael says cautiously, tilting her head with the frown still lingering.

"It is," he agrees and determinedly switches to a standard channel. He's in clubs often enough to be up-to-date, and she markedly relaxes next to him once one of the current top twenty songs drifts through the car.

They drive for five hours, something he hasn't done in a while, and even with a few breaks he feels more tired than he should. They barely exchange a word, but it's a comfortable silence. She sleeps for a while, folded in the seat, her head slightly nodding up and down with the underground. When he finally pulls the car onto the parking place of the cemetery, she unfolds and stares out of the window.

"We've arrived," he says superfluously and gets out, shaking his legs to get rid of the stiffness. Dust curls around his black shoes, settling on them in a thin yellow layer. The sun is blinding as he squints at the old iron door. The place looks stuck in some past century and he starts wondering if they're at the right spot. But then she finally gets out and stalks past him, wordlessly entering the cemetery. He locks the car and follows her in a short distance, accepting that she obviously doesn't want to share the moment.

It's like a time warp when he walks through the lines of graves that feature anything from wood and stone to more modern plastic statures and decorations. In the very back of the cemetery he sees her stop in front of a wall of urns. She raises a hand, touching one of them. He stops shortly behind her and leans against a dying tree with arms laced in front.

He feels terribly at the wrong place and time. Coffins in space don't leave a physical place to mourn, and plaques on a wall are a lot less real than looking at an actual urn that. It makes death somehow more tangible. He thinks of the boy, hazy from drugs, indignantly trying to protect his sister from some perceived threat. Maybe he should've offered more help but the situation actually hadn't looked that critical. Another useless what-if in his current life.

Dael turns around and walks back to him. "After all we've been through…" She sighs and shakes her head, gaze drifting away from him. "Let's leave." When they're back in the car, he starts the engine. She picks a paper out of her pocket. "We've got to go west," she says.

"West?"

"We've got to visit another cemetery." She shows him a map, a red circle marking the destination.

"Who's buried there?"

"Just trust me," is all she answers, and he shrugs and diverts westwards. It takes another two hours and a lunch break to get to an even tinier cemetery. This time they walk through the lines together until she stops in front of a wooden cross with 'Johnny Kirk' written on it.

"Whose grave is that?" he asks in sudden foreboding.

"It's Sam Kirk."

"Sam Kirk? – Jim's brother?"

"Yes."

Pike has known about the missing brother, but aside from the one time he tried to ask Cadet Kirk and got harshly rebuffed for it, he's never given much thought to him. It hurts surprisingly strongly to learn about the brother's demise now.

"What happened to him?" he asks, throat dry. The name might be wrong but the dates seem to be right, which made the deceased barely twenty-two... Kirk's age when Pike had picked him up in that bar.

"The captain said the death certificate says accident, but he knows better. He said he'll send you a recording about it, he just didn't manage before we left."

He's a little wounded that Kirk told Dael more than he ever told him – he hadn't even known they had stayed in contact. On the other hand, if this had been a suicide, then the two have something incredibly connecting and Pike is just happy that he's never been in their place.

"They were both so young," Dael says, and from the way her voice breaks, he can feel she's close to crying. There's nothing good to say, so he only offers a shoulder to lean on, closing one arm around her. She takes a deep breath, then nudges her head against his jacket, her body tense but no tears breaking. At last she takes a few pictures to send to Jim, then they are ready to leave.

The air is fresh and the sun is still bright as he pushes the car to its limits, something he rarely does.

After the first city, she starts talking about life on Khal'kohachi before the Narada, how it was to grow up in a tiny colony on the edge of the Federation. Some details make Pike think that it was a rather sectarian surrounding, but that's not something a kid would notice who's never seen anything but that colony. She speaks about her family and the group, the Romulan rituals they cherished, the strange mix of cultural exploration and adaption. She speaks about the day when the first, vague news of some catastrophe on Vulcan comes in, but Vulcan is far away – until the day when the raiders show up trying to take blood-thirsty revenge on people who they see as siding with the enemy. She speaks about finding her dead mother and youngest brother, and then living on a devastated planetoid with an increasingly mad father and decreasing food supplies. How the hours her father spent on perfecting their Romulan tattoos became the only ones when he seemed clear and under control.

She speaks about the hopes they had when finally a ship arrived to bring them all to a nearby planet, in the name of rescue efforts, but it split the family and she and her brother ended up in a refugee camp, where their tattoos turned them into hated outsiders. Only one older couple took pity on them and they ended up hiding with them until the IDIC Foundation came to the camp and rescued the two orphans whose tattoos were a severe obstacle for their future. They wanted to talk them into having them removed, but it was the only thing they had to keep of the past, so the Foundation finally settled for the makeup solution. They were on Vulcan for a year and never felt welcome, but at least it brought her good leverage when applying to the academy, seeing Starfleet as the only institution that would protect colonies like hers.

"I made my way – but Raol never could. And now it's over," Dael concludes sadly when it's already dark. Pike doubts she'd ever spoken about her past for so long, even when the narration had been told rather unemotionally, carefully avoiding all those little details that would've been able to flesh out the horrific reality of these years.

They're still two hours away from San Francisco, and he's hungry and emotionally worn out from her story but glad that she shared it with him. He stops the car at the nearest restaurant and they have dinner together. He'd never taken a meal with her before, and frowns at the tiny portion she eats, mentally going over her story again in the search for an explanation – usually, people who'd been close to starving once in their life would eat more afterwards, not less.

Dael lifts her eyes from under short lashes as she feels his gaze resting on her. "Sir?"

"Just noticed you eat very little."

She stares down on her plate as if she's never really thought about it.

"Never mind," he says, sorry for obviously hitting a spot that hadn't registered on her mental landscape yet. Swiftly, Pike changes the subject and idly speaks of the local food, too tired to deal with any more potentially troubling information.

When he brings the car to a stop at her dorm in the middle of the night at the end of a very long day, they sit in silence for a moment.

"You okay?" he asks, glancing at her.

"Yes." She nods. "Thank you for the day. It helped a lot." She opens the door.

Suddenly remembering what he wanted to do, he whips out one of his few paper cards and scribbles a number on its back. "If you need anything – that's my private comm. Call anytime, okay?"

"Understood. Thank you, sir." She clamps it between forefinger and thumb, then slips out of the car. Half-turning back at him, she says, "See you Wednesday in a week."

"Yes. Good night, cadet."

He watches her until the first door closes behind her, then starts the engine and drives home.

*

It takes another day before he receives a message from Jim, and then it's only text.

_"I tried to record something," it starts, "but I redid it so often that I decided to write instead. You're probably wondering why Dael knew, but I've kept in contact with her a little and when you alluded to some loss of family, I called her. We ended spending a pile of 'fleet credits on a two-hour chat. She's a great girl and I'm glad she met you, because she can use help as much as I could, back then._

_"I was eleven and Sam was fifteen when he had yet another fight with our stepfather Frank. He left for good, after telling me I'd do fine since I had good grades and obeyed every stupid order. On that day, I almost killed myself with Dad's old car. I steered it right towards the antimatter canyon and wanted to go down with it – but then I couldn't do it and jumped out in the very last moment. I hung on the edge and climbed up from the abyss, literally and figuratively, and decided that never again was I going to let myself get kicked around without fighting. No longer the obedient kid – you can imagine how that went down with Frank over the next years._

_"'I'll see ya,' Sam had said, but he never called. When I got my first car, I started searching for him, but I never found him. Not until I was twenty-two and ended in some bar and someone said something about a Johnny Kirk. It was a joke between the two of us, Johnny and Jimmy, like that goofy duo in our childhood comics, as if we could make our world a little brighter with it. I dug around in the town for the man and was shocked to find a grave. I got to know his ex, who told me some stories and showed me some shots. It definitely was Sam. He died at twenty-two, and while the death certificate says it was a car accident, she says she knows better – and I know too._

_"I drove back all the way to Iowa and Frank's farm, although he's not even alive anymore. The farm was quiet and empty, a 'For Sale' sign set up in the front yard. I sat down on the stairs and got drunk, thinking about all the things I'd say to my mother if she were there, but of course she wasn't. I sat there for a day then, drove toward the shipyards. I have no clue why I went there, or why I went into the bar that night, but it was one of those crossroad situations and if you hadn't come along, there's no telling what I would've done the next day._

_"Nobody but Bones and Dael and now you know about this, and I trust you to never tell anyone else, especially not my mother. She never cared and she doesn't care now, and the only family I want and need in my life is Bones and you._

_"Thanks for reading. I'll delete my copy of the message, please do the same. I'm not Jimmy anymore, to no one._

_Love,_

_Jim"_

Pike gets up and opens a bottle of wine because he really, really feels like it. He takes a sip, toasting to George Kirk in a quiet salute. If someone totaled his karma one day, he hopes that he gets bonus points for Jim, although he likes to think that the boy would've come around without him, too. He reads the text message once more, then deletes it and makes a note to call Tom and the kids the next day. He hasn't talked to them in far too long.

*

"You look like you've been to a funeral," Farnham says when they have dinner together in his friend's apartment on Wednesday.

"Something like that," Pike admits, twirling the red wine in his glass. "Thanks for the marvelous meal. You're getting better all the time – something I wouldn't have thought possible."

"Glad you noticed that, because from the way you ate, it could just as well have been a two credit hot dog. Care to share your thoughts with me?"

"Got various things on my mind. None of them any fun."

"Everything all right with your boyfriends?"

"Yes." Pike sets down the glass. Besides Jim's text message, there had been a recording by the doc, short and quick, because the _Enterprise_ is currently engaged in a humanitarian mission. But he hasn't heard from the _Lexington_ since they left Deep Space 5, and while this isn't really unsurprising, it still makes him a little nervous. It brings his mind back to the day he had visited Esteban's family, the painful second thoughts he'd had over a decision made to the best of his abilities and the options of Starfleet.

"Remember when I hit your apartment five weeks ago?"

"With Eric tied to the bed? Sure."

"We never talked back then."

"Well, try now," Farnham says with a twinkle.

"What's the largest loss of life that's resting on your conscience?" Pike asks slowly, aware how his question might turn the easy atmosphere of the evening into some moody venting of his current worries, all the things he couldn't share with his lovers on the _Enterprise_. Because it had become clear to him that aside from the many good reasons not to assign the _Enterprise_ to the Borg hunt, it's also been in his very personal interest to keep them in safer areas. Considering how much he'd disliked such favoritisms in the past, he's obviously arrived at a position in his life now where he is able and willing to pursue his own goals on the backs of others - a low point on his current list of annoying personal issues that weight heavily on him.

Farnham laughs a little. "You're kidding?" he asks, and then frowns when Pike shakes his head.

"I mean it. But you don't have to answer."

His friend rubs his chin. "A year ago, you would've suggested I don't have a conscience."

"Guess I know you a little better now."

There's a long moment of silence before Farnham replies at last, "There was that planet, close to a civil war between the pro-Fed government and the anti-Fed opposition. We came in and tried to stabilize the government. I know it sounds like a cheap excuse, but we really had their best interest in mind. We tried hard to prevent the war - we would even have collaborated with the opposition to stop the development. But they had their own agenda. The government fell, all went to hell. At least four million dead. The planet was bombed back to the Stone Age and blacklisted by the Federation. No contact to be established for the next fifty years." He shakes his head. "I still think that if we had made a few different decisions – if _I_ had made some different decisions, it could've been prevented. But well, it's long over."

He shrugs. "Hope you're satisfied now, admiral," he says lightly and gets up, ready to put away the dishes.

"No, I'm not," Pike surprises him, capturing his wrist. "I've got a ship out there -"

"There are always ships out there, Chris. Yours, someone else's. In the big scheme of things, it doesn't matter." Farnham pulls away from his grip. "That's something I always admired about you – the surety with which you delivered your orders, the ease with which you always succeeded in even the most critical situations. There's a reason why you were one of the longest-serving captains. You didn't chew over your responsibilities. You carried them just as you needed to, but they never grew into a burden. You didn't question your decisions afterwards. You did what you had to do and lived with it."

"That man doesn't exist anymore," Pike replies quietly. _That man got broken on a table on the Narada_, he actually wants to say, but suddenly understands that what Farnham is looking for is the Christopher Pike of the past, the officer with the air of invincibility, and not the hesitating, emotionally more insecure man of today. Farnham neither wants to deal with his own shit nor with Pike's, and Pike can't really blame him for it as it's been his favorite method of dealing with it, too. He only started to talk about such things after the Narada, very tentatively, and only Jim and the doc ever managed to force him into facing some really gloomy areas of his psyche.

Farnham proves his suspicion by waving his statement aside. "That man will come back, I've got no doubt about it." He carries out the trays, switching on the music on the way. "Let's move to the couch," he says on his return and pours them two drinks, the swing in his hips a promise for more distraction.

Maybe that's exactly why he keeps meeting Farnham, Pike thinks; to have one place in his life where he's seen as complete, treated as if nothing special happened over the last years. He just wishes it was real.

This night, Pike gets home to sleep in his own bed.

*

It's barely midnight when Pike arrives at his apartment and sits down in his kitchen, sipping a late coffee and thinking about all the things he should do, like finally moving into his brand-new, perfectly refurbished apartment. Right now, he can't imagine living in these spacious rooms all alone. Kirk and McCoy have brandished his old apartment by all the shared little moments - drinking from his cups, sitting on his couch, making love to him in his bed. On bad days, these memories are hard enough to bear, but at least they are real; in his new apartment, all he would have are ghostly options and hopeful what-ifs.

With a sigh, Pike gets up and walks to the bedroom. He undresses quickly, for the second time tonight, and sinks down on the bed. Briefly debating with himself whether to switch on McCoy's incredible recording – it works like magic as long as he skips the words around the actual sex scene – Pike decides to jerk off on memories alone. The bedding is cool as he rolls onto his back and settles with one lubed hand around his dick and the other cupping his balls. He draws up his legs, spreading them as far as he can. Images instantly come to his mind, memories of their vacation together.

_Jim licking his dick, slowly and thoroughly, two fingers buried in Pike's ass for preparation. Entering him so carefully as if it's still a rare gift, to be cherished by going slow until Pike falls apart beneath him, both a little self-conscious whenever their gazes meet. _

In his fist, his erection gets hard and heavy over this first scene, but it's not enough, and so his mind quickly moves to other memories

_The three of them together, in many various ways; Jim on his knees, getting fucked by the doc who's fucked by Pike, their classic position that never fails to work, maybe because the doc still never comes this way and always ends between them, panting and begging for it. The doc half-sitting against the head of the bed with Pike deep inside of him, face to face, kissing and almost forgetting Jim until the young captain sets the pacing, rolling his hips to drive Pike into the doc. Jim on his back, wanton and needy, with Pike kneeling over him and sucking him dry on McCoy's orders. _

The memories make him arch into his hand, each tingling a nerve, but it's still not enough, and so he rolls over and gets the vibrator from his little nightstand, quickly pushing it into his ass. Setting the rhythm to deep, separate impulses that remind him of a good fucking, Pike sinks back to rekindle his briefly faltered arousal, delving into the scene in which McCoy had topped him so completely. He brings one hand up to a nipple, capturing and pulling it sharply. His erection strains from the sudden flow of endorphins, his ass cheeks clenching together as he remembers the doc filling him up and fucking him into the couch until he'd begged him for release. Ah, how much he'd love to relive this moment of no responsibilities and of no demands except for giving in to the pleasure. But there's nobody here to carry his burdens, even momentarily, and with that thought Pike rolls to his side with a groan, his body edging along orgasm without wanting to cross the threshold.

It's the gentlest memory he finally settles in, of how the doc and he had enjoyed slow, languish love-making when Jim had been away for his second climbing trip. How they had kissed each other from sleep to painful arousal, mouths opening to each other, teeth capturing lips, tongues battling for warm depths. Their hands had explored every centimeter, stroking and massaging and teasing the nipples, at last coming to rest on the straining erections, their grips tight and strong.

For a long time, they'd been able to edge away from orgasm. Shared a breakfast, fed each other bagels, suggestively sucking honey from sticky fingertips. They'd switched around several times, the one in the bottom position not allowed to touch the other one. There had been jokes and playful kissing in one moment, and a slap and a strong hold in the next one. When they'd finally come together, arching and whimpering into each other's mouth, it hadn't been the usual, spiky eruption but more of a long, oscillating plateau, mind-blowing and so fulfilling that Pike had felt like melting into his lover. They'd sagged against each other, not speaking for long minutes, drifting in the perfect moment until it got too much to bear. Then they'd gotten up, showered, and at last ended on the couch, curled around each other as sleep claimed them again.

They'd never talked about it later.

Pike comes with a sigh, a strange orgasm that seems to spring from his core like a wave of sadness, teary with longing. His heels press into the bedding as he tries to push harder, to give it an edge that it just doesn't want to deliver. When it ebbs off, his fingers are slick with sperm. He lifts them to his mouth, licking them clean like McCoy had done that day, tongue whirling around the fingertips, tongue-fucking the gaps between them. At last he stops the vibrator and curls to his side. He should get up and clean himself, but he's exhausted and tired and soon drifts into sleep, a little doleful smile on his lips as he thinks of what the doc would say about the mess he's in.

*

Saturday morning is bright and fresh when Pike starts for another weekend in Mojave. He hadn't heard from Dael all week, but decides that as long as none of her instructors call him because of missed classes, all should be well. No use in imposing himself onto her – she can call anytime (even though he suspects she won't).

However, when he notices the tiny, folded figure at the bus stop next to the last traffic light before the highway, Pike instantly pulls to the side, all concerns about interfering with Dael's life washed away. His ears ringing from the horns sharply blown behind him, he lowers the side window.

"Need a lift to somewhere?" he calls out. She walks up to him, dressed in blue jeans and a black shirt under her too-large jacket, a small bag dangling at her side.

"Good morning, sir," she says and leans over with one hand on the car roof. "I don't have a destination - I only wanted to get away for the weekend, no matter where to." She has a certain lost puppy look, which he can't bear.

"Come on in," he says, relieved when she climbs in without ado. "I'm on my way out to Mojave. Ever been on horseback? You could ride with me."

"I learned to ride when I was a child, but that was a long time ago." She looks a little put off by his suggestion.

"You don't have to, it's just an offer." He nods towards the radio. "Switch it on."

Without hesitation, she presses the button and searches a station. When it locks, he lifts his brows. "Station Twenty?"

"I listened to it all week," she admits. "It's strange but I start to see the appeal." She sneaks him a glance. "Did you receive a message from the captain?"

"Yes."

She doesn't inquire further, and he doesn't invite questions. This is his weekend off from his unhelpful musings about life and death and his part in it.

He's not surprised when she falls asleep after a few miles, curled in a fetal position.

*

"This is Whitestar, my favorite," Pike says proudly as they walk into the stables, and waves at the strong gelding. Dael is stalking behind him, clad in bright white riding gear and boots lent to her by the farmer's youngest daughter. "And for you, we've got Vivaldi."

He feels a little bit guilty that he's talked the cadet into riding with him, but it will be an interesting experience and hopefully get her mind off the events of the last weeks. The horses are soon saddled up, and he goes through the basics with her before they ride out into the desert, his saddle bags filled with water and sandwiches.

*

The great thing about this part of the Mojave is the untamed environment of the nature reserve.

The bad thing – right now – is that this means no weather controls, and Pike eyes the gathering clouds with a frown. Usually, he would have no problem avoiding the storm that's brewing there, but today he's here with a beginner, and Dael can't keep up with his pace. Hiding his concern about the weather, he guides Whitestar next to her mare and gives the cadet an encouraging smile.

"I think that's enough for your first day," he says. "Let's ride back to the farm."

"Good idea," she replies with a little sigh, shifting in the saddle and confusing the horse. "My body hurts."

"That's normal. I rarely ride with anyone, much less a beginner, so I probably overexerted you a little."

"It's not that bad," she hurries to say. "I just can't stop being nervous about the horse. It's much easier for me to depend on technology, but an animal… Have you ever fallen from a horse?"

Pike chuckles. "Quite a few times. It gets better over the years, but even the best riders are thrown off once in a while. I'd say a certain amount of falling is necessary, otherwise you never learn where your limit is."

Dael eyes the distance to the ground. "It's high enough to get injured."

"Definitely. But you shouldn't be too concerned about it. Vivaldi is experienced and gentle."

"If you say so… sir." She sounds a little doubtful.

"Let's ride a little faster," he says with an eye on the clouds and settles into trot. Her horse follows his lead immediately. She hangs in the saddle like a sack and he draws his hand over his mouth to hide his smile. From the look in her face, she'd rather space jump right now – which he knows she hates.

"I hope we'll get some apple pie. The farmer's wife makes the best I ever tasted. Do you like apple pie?" Pike asks conversationally.

"I bought it a few times, but most are so dry."

"That happens when genetically manipulated apples are used. The farm has its own natural apple trees. You could take some home with you."

"Are you here often?"

"Quite often. It was the farm of my parents. After their death, I first leased it to the current farmer, but land like this needs a dedicated owner, so I sold it to him." Pike isn't sure why he tells her the story; maybe he wants to give something back to her, after how much she'd opened up to him.

"Didn't you feel like giving up your past?"

"I was in space all the time. I couldn't take it with me anyway." He looks up at the clouds, and she follows his gaze. "It's darkening," she notes.

"Yes. We'll get rain very soon."

"Shouldn't we be safe on the road here?"

"This isn't a road, Dael – this is a dry channel bed. Which could turn into a formidable death trap if we get a flash flood, but it's also the quickest way to get back to the farm. Let's hope we're fast enough."

Pike is gambling, trusting his luck and feel for the desert to get them out of the bed before the water comes. Thunder resounds in the distance, and Dael shifts in the saddle again, which makes the horse prancing left and right.

"Shush," he says soothingly, as much to her as to her horse, which feels the nerviness of its rider. There's suddenly a lot of tension in the air as nature braces itself against the coming onslaught, and the horses hurry on without needing another signal.

Another rumble of thunder rolls over the desert, much louder and harsher than the first one. "You're doing good," Pike says. "Let's get out of here."

He steers his horse towards her horse and the right side of the channel, planning to get them out onto the dam, when the first lightening cuts through the sky, quickly followed by a second, explosively striking one. It hits a nearby tree on the dam and the sound is enough to make Vivaldi bolt and gallop along the bed. He instantly sets after her, urging on his horse with his thighs, but still needs a few minutes to catch up with her. Even Dael's tattoos seemed to be depleted, so white is her face when he finally stops her horse with one hand on her reins. "Got you," Pike calls out a little breathlessly, almost feeling the approaching water in his bones. "We need to get up the dam. Hurry!"

Dael's horse makes the first tentative steps up the side of the channel when thin rills of water appear between the legs of his horse. "Up, up, up!" Pike shouts, harshly kicking his horse with the heels of his boots. It lurches forward when the first large waves reach out for its hind legs. Whitestar bolts and struggles under him, the rumbling of the dusty ground going loose under the hooves, the sound joining the flood's noise, and then they tumble and fall. Thrown out of the saddle, Pike tries to dive but ends head-on on a pile of stones. The landing momentarily blackens his world, costing precious seconds in which his horse loses the fight with the water. Tears sting in his eyes as he has to watch Whitestar vanishing with the muddy flood, hoping the gelding will make it.

Shakily, he scrambles to his feet, fighting the sudden headache that makes his head spin and his stomach lurch. Patting his pockets to see if he's lost anything, he finds his usual emergency transmitter gone. _Shit. _

Dael is limping towards him, her horse on the reins behind her. "I fell off, but it's nothing serious," she says. "The horse is fine."

"We've got to get away from here." Pike takes Vivaldi from her and pulls himself into the saddle. "Get up behind me," he orders roughly. There's something wrong with his head, and they need to get back to the farm as quickly as possible. With his help, she climbs up behind him on the naked horseback and slings her arms around his waist. "Hold on," he says and drives the horse forward. They're doing better than he would've thought, although the rain has caught up with them by now, draining them like a cold shower. Thankfully, they're both rather lightweight. His headache, though, is constantly increasing in intensity, and he's feeling dizzy and disoriented.

"Check my left pocket," he shouts to top the noise of the flood and the rain. "There's an emergency hypo." He's suddenly unsure which would be the right drug; it's hard to focus, and he notices his body swinging from side to side with every step of the horse.

"Sir – Sir? Everything alright?" Her hands are in his pocket, grasping the hypo. "What do you need?"

"Got a concussion… possibly a hemorrhage. Got to stop it."

"That would be Cyrilin? Sir?"

He notes the slightly frantic note in her voice, and the way her arms clamp harder around him, stabilizing his position.

"Sir, please tell me if Cyrilin is the correct choice. I've only had a weekend course in first aid so far."

"I…think so." Pike bends over to the left to vomit, his lunch barely missing the horse before hitting the wet ground. He sorely wishes the doc was here because the way his sight blurs tells him that chances are he'll end in the history books as the admiral who survived Nero but not a stupid fall from a horse. _Way to go. _

"Sir, I'll inject two doses of Cyrilin now." There's a stab against his neck, and for a few wonderful minutes, the symptoms don't worsen.

"Good choice," Pike mutters. A strong grip pulls him upright, one slim hand catching the reins when his fingers lose their grip on the wet leather. His body limply sags back against her, but she holds on as she drives the horse forward.

"We're almost on the road," Dael says into his ear. "I can see the farm in the distance." His head heavy and pulsing, he nods. His vision is clouded, water running down his face in thick streams, but he trusts her. "Probably waiting for us. Should – ah!" He arches, his body suddenly overtaken by spasms.

"Sir?"

Pike wants to answer, but it's like the storm moved into his brain, throwing him around. His body is out of control, coiling and shaking, and he distantly feels the horse underneath them bucking. His limbs are torn apart by seizures taking over his world; his heart beat is pounding in his head, going _boom boom boom_ and then coming to a sudden halt.

As white peace takes over, Pike only regrets that he can't say good-bye to the people he loves.

*

When Pike comes back to life, everything is a shady gray silence with little dots of red chirps. He's flat on his back and there's something around his head and neck, something hard and stiff that's keeping him in position.

"Sir – admiral!" The words are overly loud and ring in his ears, turning the gray into a light blue. There's a touch and a shift of the ground beneath him, something cool on his fingers.

"Sir. Can you hear me? Please, say something."

"Shh." His lips deliver something, obviously. Something heavy leans on his right shoulder, whispered words drifting through the shadows.

He should know that voice. He _does_ know that voice. "Dael?" He can't turn his head but he badly wants to see her. There's something suspiciously like a sob close to his right ear.

"I'm dying?" A full sentence; he's pleased with himself, even though there's something very wrong with his brain and he feels a bit guilty for eternally ignoring the danger.

"No, sir. But I almost killed you!"

"Not gonna happen." Looking is too much work, so he blindly tries to move his right hand but she seems to lie on it, so he tries his left. There are things in the way but then his fingers uncoordinatedly brush through her hair, every move a tremendous effort. There are memories rising, of rain in the desert. "You got the horse home."

"I made a mistake. You could've died."

Suddenly there's a lot of movement in the room.

"Now that you could see that he survived, please leave the room and get some rest, cadet," someone says and it's definitely not him. But he completely agrees if it means he's got time to figure out what she's talking about. People move around him, shifting shadows when he opens his eyes.

"Look at me, sir," a circle above him says, and Pike tries but he's not sure what he's supposed to look at, all the wrong colors and vague forms.

"I'm Doctor Anumanchi. You're in the intensive care unit at SFM General. All will be well. You had a cascading brainstem failure. Don't be concerned that you can't move your head right now. It's a neural stabilizer." There's a cautious touch on his left hand. "We'll sedate you again for now to give the emergency therapy more time to work. We'll speak later."

Pike doesn't like the idea of being out of it again but then there's already the telling stab and all goes black.

*

He hates doctors. It was in the Narada aftermath that Pike realized the full amount of said hate, but he's never liked them, never liked feeling weak and disoriented and being subjected to the decisions of others.

It really doesn't help that he currently _is_ disoriented, more than he'd ever been, thanks to a kind of perpetual motion sickness and a new surprise side effect every day. He had agreed to the therapy that the _doctores_ Anumanchi and McCoy created for him, trusting them to have his best interest in mind, but he doesn't have to like it. He's on artificial nutrition, the forced head position makes his insides curl and his shoulders ache, and even after four days, just closing his hands to a fist doesn't work yet.

"_The good news, _" McCoy had told him over the long distance real-time transmission, "_is that the injection Dael gave you stopped the swelling in your brain caused from the accident with the horse. The bad news is that it caused a cascading failure in your brainstem which almost killed you. You can't really control your limbs right now but we analyzed the data and the positive side effect of this failure is that the underlying problem reared its ugly head. Which gives us a leverage to deal with it. I wish I could tell you that we've got a quick fix for you, but we don't. We'll have a treatment laid out now, but it's experimental, and if it doesn't work, we'll have to try something else. _"

Four days, and his fingers still won't form a fist, not even as he angrily stares at his raised hand.

Technically, he's allowed to see visitors but he's too sick most of the time and for once doesn't want to be seen so helpless. He had noticed Farnham's damn serious face when his friend had come to visit against his recommendation, and it's been easy to get John into talking Nat and Tom out of visiting him.

"I'll be better in a week," Pike had said, and Farnham had nodded and put on a fake smile, being too intelligent not to know that in reality, the future of his existence is very much up in the air right now.

The only one who's regularly welcome is Dael, because after overcoming her guilt (thanks to McCoy's statement that he'd have applied the same drug, with the same catastrophic effect), she's matter-of-factly talking to him about the Academy and her courses and engaging him in discussion about tactics and treaties and interplanetary diplomacy. It's exhausting but also relieving – at least some parts of his brain seem to work fine, even if sometimes his voice fails, or his eyes can't focus on things. He's even passed out a few times. The therapy makes him experience all of the brainstem's interesting facets and if he were a med student, he'd probably love it. As it is, Pike wants to get back to his strategic Borg problem and, _fuck all_, have a day in his life in which he doesn't feel like a boat in a hurricane.

Determinedly gnashing his teeth, he succumbs to the full program, which includes his body being plastered with TENS units and someone physically moving his legs twice a day to remind his brain how it feels if the muscles and nerves actually work. Nothing of it hurts but it's mostly happening out of his sight and it still feels as if his legs aren't a part of him. This indifference comes to a sudden hold when he notices the sexy male nurse on day five, and while he still can't see and feel much, the higher regions of his brain jump at the idea like nothing. And another region too.

Two hours later, he gives up and dictates a note in his voice-controlled comm. next to the bed.

_John, I need your help. Badly. Bring lube. _

It's five hours later when his friend shows up, a large grin on his face.

"Thought no visitors during night shift," Pike says sleepily.

"I'm persuasive." Farnham's grin deepens as he leans down and places a rather chaste kiss on Pike's lips. "You feeling better?"

"Not much, but some parts of my body work too damn well and my coordination's still down the drain."

"Never thought you'd call me to give you a helping hand." Said hand slips down and pats Pike's groin. Pike isn't actually sure if he's really hard or if the arousal is all in his brain, but it's unbearably real in any case.

"No toying with me, John," Pike mutters, his breathing quickening. "Please."

"Would be my great chance to have you finally beg." Farnham purses his lips. "But I won't take advantage of your inconvenient situation." His eyes drift around the room, his expression turning more serious. "You're sure we should do this? There are cams and monitors all around, and your doctors will kill me if you end up worse than you already are."

"Cleared it with them. Told me to go easy, but it's not forbidden." Pike tries to shift his legs, and for once there seems to be actual movement. Forehead creased in concentration he spreads his legs a little, his groin rising to meet the lingering palm. "Come on, John. Please." He _is_ begging, _damn_.

Farnham pulls the cover aside and moves downwards, out of Pike's sight. It only takes a moment, though, before he exactly knows where John's head is, because a hot mouth settles on his dick and sucks it in. Pike would arch if he could, so he only presses his hands into the bedding and spreads his legs a little more. "Give me your fingers, John. Please. Fuck me with them."

There's the sound of lube and he feels – _feels, yeah_ – the moment something cool presses into him, quick and dirty and absolutely needed tonight. He doesn't know how many there are but they move in and out and then there's the mouth on him again. His body is trembling, his head and neck aching from the impulse to join the movement and being unable to do so. He raises a sluggish hand into the air, reaching out to find the head of his lover. Lacing his fingers into short hair, he holds on for a second, but then his leftover coordination goes to hell and he's reduced to a shivering bundle of messed-up nerves that dance on their own. Soon he comes with a groan, the throes of orgasm tearing his limbs as Farnham rides it out with him.

Pike comes back to full conscience with the cover tugged around him, arms carefully placed underneath it.

"Somehow it's good to know that some things didn't change," Farnham says above him, and this time the smile is real, reaching his eyes. He holds Pike for a moment, sharing a deep kiss that tastes of sperm and a little of coffee, then moves away. "I've got to go."

"Thanks for coming, John. You're the best."

"I'm not. But I wish I were." Farnham's hand pats his chest for a moment. "You can call me any time, Chris. I just can't promise I'll be quick."

"Understood. Thanks again." There's almost an _I love you_ on his lips but it wouldn't be true, not in the long run, and so Pike doesn't say it. Or maybe, he thinks sleepily as he hears the click of the closing door, he does love John in a way, but he's not _in love_ with John, and that makes all the difference.

The next day is the first to see some real improvements.

"_I heard you got some healing sex,_" Kirk says in his next message, and what seems to have been intended as a joke sounds surprisingly edgy. "_If we were there, you'd already be walking._"

_I wish_, Pike thinks. _Don't I wish. _

*

It's day ten when Pike is finally freed from the equipment around his head and able to move – well, get moved – into a wheelchair. He hates these too but it's an incredible improvement to being tied to a bed, so he doesn't complain. He asks for a shower and spends a full hour under the hot water, exerting his newly acquired control of his fingers to clean himself thoroughly.

He's got another session with Doctor Anumanchi in which she explains his current status (stable) and the prognosis (unclear) and he thinks that he really expected medicine to advance beyond the point of educated guesswork, but he knows he's being unjust. They've done everything they could for the moment, and now his brain needs to get around and sort the chaos. It means rehab for at least six week, an elaborate program of exercises for body and brain not unlike the one he'd gone through after the Narada. Considering that he needed almost a year to recover back then, his future looks suddenly dark and bleary, a familiar twinge of depression settling in his stomach.

At least this time he's got still his job, unlike last time when everything that had been important to him had been crushed and gone.

"I heard the institution is almost a day away," Dael says as she hears the news. She sits on the visitor chair as he packs his things, having helped him fetch the few belongings that were out of his reach.

"I hope you visit me anyway," he says and looks at her with a smile. "There's regular transportation to and from the place, as it's one of the 'fleet's preferred institutes. I sent the launch dates for the next two weeks to your PADD together with the address where new dates can be found."

Pike is being egoistic and he knows it – there's no reason why she should make the long ride just to cheer him up, even though the semester break is coming up. But he's gotten used to her being around for discussions, and he'd really miss that. "Your travel expenses would be paid by the 'fleet," he adds. It's a lie but his income is large enough to cover her trips, and what good is having money if not for catering to his needs while he is still alive? If he had died in the desert, he couldn't have taken his precious savings with him anyway.

Pike carefully puts some PADDs into his suitcase. He'd get more equipment installed in his room in the rehab, anything he needs to keep steering the Borg task force while staying there, even though he'll probably have some restrictions on his work load. He smiles as he thinks back to McCoy's last transmission.

_"Think of your brainstem just having gone through a major reconfiguration. You wouldn't want to send a ship out of orbit without giving your crew time to get acquainted with the new systems and to iron out the problems," McCoy said._

_"An engineering comparison from you, doc?" Pike replied, amused._

_"I know how to talk to captains," the doc grumbled, and then smiled. "Take care. We'll be out of range soon, but I expect daily recordings from you. Full reports, including all raunchy details. We miss you, you sexy bastard. Try not to get killed for a month or two."_

He'd try his best, Pike thinks as his gaze drifts from the suitcase up to Dael. She's looking at him with a strange expression in her dark eyes, and he tilts his head. "Anything wrong, cadet?"

"No, sir," she answers quickly, too quickly, but before he can say anything, she gets up and straightens her spine into a military stance. "I'll take my leave of you, sir. Have a good journey."

He nods, mouth dry. "Good luck with the finals. I have no doubt that you'll pass them all with flying colors."

She nods too, a jerky snap of her head. "Sir. Thank you, sir." Then she turns on the spot and leaves the room.

With a sigh, he heavily rests his chin on his palm. He'll never understand her. He is surprisingly hurt and confused by the way she left, which is a sharp cut from the easy exchanges of last two weeks. Resuming his packing, much slower now, he wonders if he said anything wrong but can't come up with a good explanation for her behavior, so at last settles to accept that human beings are eternally illogical.

The sparsely populated medical transport starts an hour later, and Pike's somber mood lightens as he looks out of the shuttle windows, almost feeling the wind dance around his nose.

"_This is the captain speaking,_" a voice comes out of the speaker. "_We're a little ahead of schedule, so I decided to take a little trip into the atmosphere. Earth is looking good today, so enjoy the view._"

Pike hopes the crew doesn't do this only for him, but if they do… it's a great gift. He rubs over his cheek, a sudden pressure in the back of his eyes.

*

It's week three of six (the first six, he's sure there's more to come), and he's crawling back from therapy. Not literally, but that's his internal word for it because that's how he feels about it. Although he knows that this isn't helpful at all, he despises his rather useless lower body when he forcefully moves the wheelchair through the corridors. There would be antigrav chairs in the house but wheeling himself around works wonders for his arm and shoulder muscles, so he'd rather bother with it than to become even weaker than he is.

It's when he turns around the corner to his floor that he sees her standing at his door, and his heart jumps.

"Cadet Dael," he calls out, and she turns to him and smiles as if they had never parted in a very strange atmosphere, her tattoos bright and uncovered. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth right now, he's just happy to see her. They have coffee and sandwiches in the cafeteria, and she talks about her successful semester finals. She isn't as good as his former protégées, but considering her past, he thinks she's come a very long way. It would sound condescending to say that, so he simply congratulates her on her achievements, trying to hide the full amount of his pride. He gives her one of the apples that the farmer had sent him together with a note that his beloved Whitestar has fully recovered, and for good measure he shares some of Tom's prized peaches too.

When she wants to fly back, the transport is fully booked, much to Pike's surprise.

"No problem," says the nurse on the counter, and gives her a single room for the night, not far from Pike's. On the next morning, over breakfast, Dael is invited to stay for a few days by the head of the institution. She sheds a confused glance at Pike, who shrugs and notes that she could see it as some kind of vacation, so she agrees.

It's week one of her stay, and he's only counting because he soon realizes that this didn't happen just by chance.

*

Dael stays and quietly becomes a part of the rehab program – his and everyone else's, somehow. The doctors and nurses treat her like a guest, but they also offer her this and that group to join, this and that session to test. Instead of only sitting with him, she soon also sits and speaks with other people in the corridor, some kids her age, some older people. At first, enough people flinch away from her tattoo-covered features that remind everyone in Starfleet of the biggest tragedy the Federation had yet to face, but even hard-boiled officers find it beyond themselves to keep up their anger and resentment over time.

"_I hated her whenever I passed her, _" Aileen McGoverns tells him later, one of the few survivors of the Farragut who lost both legs in the ambush above Vulcan, "_but then I talked to her and just I couldn't hate her anymore. Jesus Christ, she's the age of my daughter. And my daughter isn't responsible for me sitting here nurturing my depression. These kids aren't responsible for any of it. Only Nero is._"

At the lunch and dinner table, Dael still only eats a quarter of her plate, but he notices that her meals are high-caloric, and over time her overly thin face rounds a tiny bit, her clothes sitting a little less loose. That's when he understands she's also here for her own rehab program, and he's not sure if she realized that.

*

The only game Pike currently masters is the Invisible Ship, something that already tickled his fancy five years ago. As that means there's little challenge in it, he allows himself only two games a week. It's Saturday afternoon and he's sitting comfortably in front of a fake bridge screen in the barely illuminated holo suite, his gloved hands up in the air to control the ship's actions. This time he has invited Dael to join him, so she's now standing behind his chair, watching the simulation.

"They had tried to equip ships with a maneuvering unit like this, but humans – and most other species – want to have solid controls, feel real panels under their fingertips, no matter how lightly they have to press," Pike explains as he brings the invisible ship out of the dock with a snip of his forefinger. The screen shows the space above Jupiter, a view he's always liked a lot.

"The simulation has twenty different levels, and a set of additional levels with space battles." He engages one of the battle settings, two Klingon cruisers above a small, lightly violet planet.

"This game isn't about diplomacy at all, it's solely for honing the coordination and maneuvering skills for this ship. In the first weeks, it was hard as I still didn't have full control over my hands yet, but it's rather easy for me now." Pike quickly engages the cruisers, zig-zagging between them and soon disabling their engines with quick hits. "I've played this already a few times, the simulation isn't as clever as the academy programs. Once you know the solution, it's easy." He stops and restarts the game on the first level, then removes the gloves, giving them to Dael.

"Here, give it a try."

She pulls them on and takes a place in front of him. "Kneel down in front of the chair, I'll help you with the directions," he says, and she does as suggested. Sharing her view on the hands and the scenery, he bends a little forward and starts his instructions. "Imagine you've got five panels in front of you, laid out in a half circle. The unusual thing here is that each panel also has a depth of five layers with different functions on each." He takes one of her outstretched hands and pulls it closer to her body. "When the glove shines like this, you're working on the surface. When it's dark like this –" he moves it away from her – "you're in the lowest level. The first lesson is to get a feel for the size and depths of the panels. From there, the functionalities of each panel and each layer have to be trained. The simulation has explicit lessons for each, but I always felt that working with the ensemble of the most necessary functions is better training."

He watches her moving her hands in thin air; the only response of the system is the minute changes in the gloves' intensity.

"I wonder –" Dael says and makes a pointing movement with her right forefinger, freezing when the screen comes alive with a dozen of alerts.

"You've just started the waste ejection in a space dock. Not a recommended procedure." Pike tries not to grin, but it's an amusing operation error. Taking her right hand once more, he teaches her the command to stop the ejection.

"These panels are enough to do everything on the ship. You've got all bridge controls and also all additional controls of the various emergency bridges and main control panels of each section literally at your fingertips. It's a fascinating design but it won't ever be used on a real ship."

"Because of the missing touch panels?"

"Not only. For this kind of control to work, you need a completely still surrounding. In a battle or in the middle of some natural disaster, the ship's shaking and being thrown around. This panel design is eternally restricted to simulations." Pike is a little wistful about this aspect, but that's the nature of fancy new technologies – not all are useful in practice.

"Let me try again," Dael says and cautiously moves her hands. He watches her exploration with a smile.

*

Two weeks come and go with Dael at his side – that's what it feels like, and Pike is not beyond admitting that she's good for him.

On the other hand, he's too curious to let two important questions rest: who arranged all this and what's their goal? When he inquires about who pays her undoubtedly expensive stay, everyone is lip-locked at first, then the IDIC Foundation is brought up. Bad luck that Pike has put some research into that trust and it only supports stays on New Vulcan, no therapy programs on Earth.

It's Nogura's visit that finally gives Pike a chance to ask over a quiet dinner in his room. Once the dishes are empty and taken away, the glasses filled, and his visitor relaxed and hopefully open for answers, he approaches the subject.

"About Dael - do I need to guess forever, or are you telling me who her parents worked for on that backwater planet? Because while I know that we always try to rescue every human in this galaxy, the way Dael has been supported over the last years and is now maneuvered through a sneaky therapy program paid by some unnamed organization, there's got to be more behind it."

Nogura eyes him over the edge of his wine glass, then replies with a faint smile, "Her mother was a former officer and worked for Fed Intelligence. Her father was an artist – gifted but a little escapist, quick in ignoring the realities of the world. Intelligence badly wanted to have someone in those colonies, but nobody except for this couple had the necessary believable profile. They managed to talk her into it. The family moved to the colony for a projected four years when Dael was eight, but the mission got extended. The children were seen as additional benefit, a believable cover."

"Not one of the brightest decisions."

"At that time, the colonies were very secure. Who would have thought that we were in an undeclared war with a time-traveling Romulan?" Nogura takes a sip of his wine before proceeding. "After the Narada, the Federation was in uproar. A few small colonies near the Romulan boarder were very low on the priority list. Only when the reports came in about the colonies being razed to the ground, a first ship was sent there. It was badly equipped and couldn't detect the few survivors. Six months later, an Andorian ship found them in a routine sweep, but instead of informing the authorities, the two children and their father ended in a refugee camp on Ontarii. The father was completely delusional at that point. It's probably a miracle that he didn't kill his children. His trace ends in that camp, he's presumed dead. A few Federation delegates visited the camp once in a while, but the kids hid from everyone due to their tattoos, and the one man who saw them had no empathy to spare for whom he thought to be Romulan bastards. If not for the IDIC Foundation, they'd probably still be there."

"So intelligence and various other Federation authorities gloriously fucked up, and now you want to fix that."

"The Federation owes Dael something, and we're trying to pay it back. She never agreed to a good therapy after New Vulcan but once she almost accidentally showed up here, it was decided that it was the perfect timing to do something for her."

"Who decided that?"

"Several institutions and a private financier. Her costs are covered. No need to spend your own money." Nogura smiles a little.

"Your intervention comes rather late. She's lost everything, even her brother."

"Her brother was offered the same chances as she was, but he wasn't as stable."

"A heartless statement."

"We cannot make the past undone," Nogura says quietly, eyes staring into the distance for a moment before focusing on Pike again. "But we can improve the future. Which brings me to you."

"Does it?" Pike replies frostily.

"I talked to her doctors. They recommend that Dael stays for another six weeks."

Pike takes a deep breath. "Oh – no."

"Please, Chris. You've got a full office here, and your doctors recommend another six weeks of therapy anyway."

"I'd really like to see my own apartment again, once in a while. With or without walking. They're ready to discharge me on my own risk."

"If you leave, she'll leave with you. So if you want to do her a real favor – stay with her until her doctors think she's ready to be discharged."

"I hate this idea."

"I know. But it's for the best – for each of you." Nogura's smile is sweet and double-layered, and Pike engages in a brief daydream of throttling the man.

"I'll do it," Pike says at last. "But you owe me for that, Heihachiro. A big one."

"Sure, Chris." There's that sweet smile again, and when Nogura is out of the door, Pike punches a hole into thin air.

_Fuck Intelligence for sending out kids into danger zones like pawns protecting a queen. _

Then he thinks of the _Lexington_ and what pain his own decisions might cause if anything goes wrong.

_Fuck yourself for thinking that what you do when sending people out into the void is so very different. _

*

It's a week later, on day four after standing up on his own two legs again, and Pike stares after the yellow ball that springs away to his left before he's got a chance to catch it, cursing silently as he loses another point. Holo Squash is always a challenging game and even in this toned-down version for rehab, Pike ends sweating and swearing. Each player wears a sensor suit and racquet, and while Dael has to make full movements, his leg sensors are programmed to cheat – every small movement will be multiplied and translated into a transversal shift, so he's got at least a tiny chance to catch the ball.

They've changed the rules and switch the server after every point because he'd never have a chance to serve otherwise, but it doesn't help a lot. The rehab staff thinks he's a bit crazy to start with the most strenuous ball game of all, but he's set some challenging goals for himself and he's not going to yield to the limits the doctors would like to impose on him.

Pike takes the ball, every time a little in awe about how realistic holosuites have become when he feels the solid matter in his hands, then serves in a hard volley. This time he'd make a damn point. Dael's answering straight drive brings the ball back to him, and they play back and forth for a few beats, before his drop shot takes all spin off the ball and drives her to the front wall. She slips and lightly crashes into it, the ball rolling off. He balls a fist and lets out a victorious shout.

"That was sneaky," she accuses him but the corners of her lips quirk as she pulls herself up. "Congratulations on your first point."

With a grin he makes a dancing move, which he instantly regrets as he uncoordinatedly topples forward and goes down on one padded knee. The pleasure of the won point is eaten by having gone down ten times in this session when his personal goal is no more than five. _Shit._

Like every time she wordlessly walks up at him and offers her hand. Pike takes it and is standing a second later, pulled up by her solid grip.

"One more round," Dael says, not really asking, and he's close to declining because he's exhausted and frustrated, but then he allows her to push him through that extra serve.

"Goal: keeping the ball in the game as long as possible, or we'll both lose," she changes the rules, and when they leave the court a quarter of an hour later, he's drop dead tired but also fucking satisfied with himself.

*

No matter their schedules, they always have dinner together on a small table all by themselves, sometimes exchanging news of the day, sometimes just sitting in comfortable silence. Tonight, when he's already done, he watches her listlessly moving the vegetables back and forth on the plate.

"I thought about your question," Dael says suddenly, looking up at him.

"Which question?"

"Why I eat so little. Before you asked, I've never given it a thought. Everyone seemed to think I was eating enough, or if any girl remarked on anything, they were usually congratulating me on being so thin. I never wondered if it's normal."

"I didn't want to make you feel as if it's not normal –"

"But it isn't," she rushes in. "I – when we got into the refugee camp, we were rather starved and we stuffed ourselves full when we got the first real food again. But then I found out that many of the girls... well, there was a lot of violence and rape. I looked like a boy, and it was better that way, so I kept eating very little. It remained like that after the move to Vulcan, because it's been a part of me for so long."

Interesting that Pike had been right about her not having the transgender vibe, as opposed to Farnham's guess. "I'm glad my question made you reconsider your attitude to food. It may give you more of a choice."

"Do you think I look starved?"

Pike smiles. "A little maybe, but not enough to make me send you in for extra nutrition."

"Good." She shyly smiles back at him, then returns her focus back to the food, picking up a slice of fried potato.

With renewed awareness he looks at her plate, the tiny portions she eats. While he might be used to the sight of her, it really isn't natural for a person her age and the rehab is trying its damnest to improve her health. On the other hand, he's sure that once she feels more comfortable with herself and her life in whole, this aspect will solve itself. Seeing no actual need for intervention, he decides to comment no further on her eating habits.

"Battle tonight?" Pike asks. He's enhanced the ship simulation by adding another air panel, which allows them either fighting the enemy together or engaging in a battle between them. So far, he's beaten her in every duel, and she accepts it as good-naturedly as he accepts losing in squash.

"Sure." She winks. "And I'm determined to win today - sir."

*

True to her words, she catches up with the ship simulation and scores her first victory that evening. He claims revenge on the next morning, when they spontaneously decide to play squash before breakfast.

Pike makes a few more points than usual - and falls a little more, as he's changed the settings of the sensors so that he's got to make larger steps. After a rather spectacular yet unplanned dive, he ends sprawled on his back like a stranded bug and can't help laughing about his own ridiculous situation.

"Oh… fuck," he squeezes out. _Talk about gallows humor. _

"That was funny," she agrees, lips quirking. "But it's still my point."

"You think?" He looks up at her as she bends over him, offering her hand like usual. With a calculated jerk, he flips her over his head. Taking her by surprise, he's got time to get on all fours and crawl over her.

"Lesson for today – never underestimate the potential for dirty play," he says. His victory is short-lived as she uses some sneaky trick on him that ends with her sitting on his shoulders, his face flat on the mat. His legs may be weak but his upper body isn't, and so the combat wares back and forth for some more minutes before he's got to give up.

"I surrender," Pike says as he's sprawled out again with her kneeling on his chest, his sweat-soaked training clothes clinging to his body.

Dael instantly withdraws, giving him room to rise on his elbows.

"Thanks for beating the mat with me. It makes me feel whole." Pike aches all around, but that's currently a necessary ingredient for that feeling.

She just nods and gets up. "Peace?" she says, offering her hand.

"Peace." He allows her to get him up and steady him on the way out of the holosuite.

It's the first but not the last round of squash that ends with an impromptu hand-to-hand combat session.

*

"It's been reported to me that you've made good progress," Nogura says when he visits Pike a week later for another short visit, "but I hadn't hoped to see you this agile already."

"I can fake it well. It stills takes a lot of concentration not to fall over," Pike replies as he walks down the corridor with his colleague. "I've never realized in the past just how fragile the ability to walk is. That we're able to keep our balance at all borders on a miracle."

He shows Nogura to his room and offers him a seat at his table before preparing some tea. Nogura looks around. "It looks even more like Pike Headquarters than last time," he notes.

"Just a few more screens. It makes strategic planning easier." Pike fills two cups and places them on the table before getting out a pack of cookies. With a small groan, he sinks into his chair.

"Are you in pain?" Nogura asks concerned.

"Only because I regularly get my ass handed to me in training," Pike replies. "It's about the only good thing of my injury that the brain itself doesn't hurt – only the side effects may." He adds some sugar to his tea. "Any special reason why you come here today?"

Nogura smiles. "Just wanted to see you."

"I know you, you never _just_ do something," Pike says. "Is it about the task force? We've got online meetings once a week, you should've received my progress report –"

"Everything is fine with your performance." Nogura waves his hand. "You seem to be even more efficient than usual. Maybe you should consider moving in here."

Pike shudders. "No thanks."

Time goes by with his colleague engaging him in small talk, obviously unwilling to bring up the point, if any. When he shows Nogura out again after two hours of much spoken, little said (in Pike's opinion), the man stops after a few steps out of the door and looks to the left. Pike follows his gaze. There's Dael sitting in her usual folded style on a chair in the public area, the PADD resting on her upright knees, head bowed over some reading.

"She's waiting for her session with her psychotherapist," Pike says, knowing her current timetable by heart. "You want to talk to her?"

"No, I don't think that's necessary." Nogura resumes walking, and Pike follows him to the elevator on the right. "I don't know what it is about you and your cases, Chris, but you've managed to adopt another stray puppy," the man says when the elevator door opens.

Pulled out of the concentration needed for keeping upright, Pike doesn't find a clever answer right away. It makes Nogura's next words only hit harder.

"If you make it official and step down as her mentor, I'll try and keep the dogs away from the two of you. But I don't want to see some secret love affair that would undoubtedly hit the news sooner or later." The tone isn't much different from the day on which Nogura had reprimanded him for letting the cadet sleep on the couch in his office.

"There's nothing to make official," Pike says reflexively, defensively, putting one hand on the wall next to the lift for grounding.

"If you say so." Nogura looks back at the seated girl at the other end of the corridor. "If it had been any other cadet, I'd give you hell, but I have seen enough of the two of you to see that you fit well. So if this development goes where I suspect it will, I expect you to be forthright about it."

"If anything happens, I'll come and see you," Pike agrees, mostly to get Nogura stop before he could delve into the subject any further. He's tried very hard to abstain from anything that could be considered unbecoming conduct where Dael is concerned, and he has no intention to change this.

With a last nod, Nogura makes two steps back into the elevator, his sharp eyes resting on Pike until the door closes between them.

That evening, Dael and he eat in complete silence.

"It's battle time," Dael says after dinner, but Pike shakes his head. "I don't have time tonight," he says, and it's only half a lie.

"I still want revenge for yesterday evening," she replies challengingly, the glint of dare in her eyes usually enough to make him reconsider - but not tonight.

"As I said, I am occupied elsewhere this evening. See you tomorrow, cadet," he says firmly and gets up to bring his plate away. He spends the evening all alone, recording something for the doc and Jim, answering a message by John, and then reading the newest intelligence reports on the Romulans and Klingons to keep an eye on other potential threats. When he falls asleep, it's to restless dreams about which he can't remember anything the next morning.

*

For two days, Dael doesn't approach him for another game, even barely crossing his paths. He thinks it's for the best but he can't deny that he definitely misses his sparring partner. At last Pike caves in and walks to her room where she might be, ready to ask for her company for a ship simulation tonight. The unlocked door opens to him and he cautiously looks into the room, surprised by the many colors that greet him. His own room is clinically sterile and white, barely anything personal in it. The bright light soothes him, because he can see everything right away, and the clinical feel reminds him on his former ship's quarters, all neat and ordered. Both aspects give him a satisfying feeling of control.

Her room, though, is filled with one of the available holo projections. The floor looks like black soil; on the two adjacent walls behind the bed where she currently sleeps, dark-red stone walls are projected, while the other two walls open into a field with yellow crop tilted by a breeze. The darkness of the sky is barely penetrated by a distant moon and a few stars, all a little faint behind a layer of fog. On the table, there are paintings - real paintings for all he can see, possibly results from her art therapy. It's something he's given up after the first tentative try because he considered the paintings, once they were interpreted to him, to show much more of his inner workings than he wanted to face. Given the staple of canvases she doesn't seem to be as chicken-hearted, but while he's really curious about the paintings, he pointedly looks away from them.

Dael doesn't stir on his entrance, and so he walks out again, sending a message to her console instead.

"_I'm sorry for having been an ass. Dinner tonight?_"

Her answer comes two hours later. "_Apology accepted. Dinner and rematch tonight._"

*

It's a bit of a truce between them for the next days, with little exchange even during their games. Dael is busy with sessions and sometimes away for the day. She's also restless and a little haunted around the edges, and it makes Pike a little concerned, wondering if her father's madness had any genetic component.

A popular holiday is approaching, one he pointedly ignores since forever because it's upholding a romantic look on family that he can't share for various reasons. Pike is adamant about keeping the accompanying decorations out of his room, and determined to ignore the trees and candles that invade the corridors and common areas, and he's good at it until the day when the reception calls him to inform him of a parcel. They deliver it to his room, and parcel is definitely the wrong word – crate would fit much better.

It must have come a long way, because when he breaks the seal and opens the cover, the _Enterprise_ symbol stares at him – and a card, which says, "For you and Dael – to be opened together."

His patience is sourly tested when he has to wait two hours until her appearance. When she enters his room, her gaze instantly comes to rest on the crate.

"Something from the _Enterprise_. I have no idea what it might be," he says. "Come and help me."

They start to unpack together, removing several layers of protective material until they reach a metal box that might hold the actual gift.

"It must have cost them a fortune to ship something so voluminous," Dael says, a little in awe.

"And it took long time to plan; it took at least six weeks to get here from their current position."

When he catches a first glimpse on the gifts – two rectangular wooden boxes with glass fronts – he swears inwardly because his lovers are really too silly to be true. There are fucking _bears_ inside the boxes. He picks the one with his name on top, and sits down on the bed to inspect the contents.

"_Break in case of emergencies_" is written on the glass front in an imitation of old-fashioned fire alerts. Behind it there's a diorama, in its center two bears. The one in blue sits in front, holding a tiny hypo in his paws; a golden-shirted bear sits closely behind it. To their left, there's a toy plastic horse on what should be a sand-colored underground, some real plant imitating a yucca. On the ground in front and to the right, there are coffee beans and pasta packages, tiny lube packs and heart-shaped red pillows that barely hide a doll-sized pair of handcuffs and a whip. In the left background, there are steep rocks; in the lower right background, there's a view over a nightly city, almost looking as if they'd taken it on his own balcony, and above it, a starlit night sky. It's silly and beautiful and obviously completely handmade, and the idea of them sitting together and making this for him is… mind-boggling. And he hates the way his nose tenses and a wave of _sappyfuckingfeelings_ rises in him.

Pike shakes it off and looks at Dael who's absorbed in her own diorama. He's curious but also a little self-conscious about showing his, which openly alludes to his sexual preferences. When she catches his gaze, she wordlessly turns hers around. It's similar to his own, but with many differences in detail. In her diorama, it's the captain's bear in front, with the doctor behind it. The ground is covered with something like dark-brown plush. There are tiny books stapled on the right, with tiny titles that were probably readable if he gave it a try. The lower background shows a mountain scenery sloping down into a rather lifeless plane, stars above it. On the left, a mirror is half-lying, offering itself to the watcher, and its edge covered with calligraphy. Pike is not completely sure if it's Romulan or Vulcan. There's an IDIC symbol, a paintbrush, a little tin motorcycle and something glassy and curved, which he has no clue what it should be, but doesn't ask. He turns his diorama and shows it to her, glad that she doesn't ask either, only nods curtly when she's done.

"There's another card," she says and gives it to Pike. He opens it, reading it out loud.

"_We wanted to send something really unique, which is hard with someone who's seen more of the galaxy than most other people, so we ended with this. We hope you like our gifts. Don't be concerned about sending something in return; having Chris alive is the best gift we could get, and this wouldn't have been possible without you, Dael. So – happy holidays and we'll speak to you hopefully soon. Take care. Jim and Leonard._"

Pike rubs his thumbs over the card – real, expensive paper – and absent-mindedly stares at the words. He's not completely sure whose handwriting it is and it shouldn't be important but suddenly it matters that he doesn't recognize it. There will always be so much he won't know about them, so many things they could surprise him with. He's got the nagging feeling that they're looking through him much more easily than he looks through them, and it makes him feel extra vulnerable tonight.

_Fuck these feelings. Fuck._

"Sir?" Dael asks cautiously, stirring him out of his drifting thoughts.

"Yes?"

"It's dinner time. We should go."

"I'm not hungry."

"They'll look for you if you don't attend," Dael says reasonably, but he doesn't feel like listening to the voice of reason right now.

"Tell them I'm fine. Just not hungry."

She gets up from the floor, looking as if she wants to leave the present with him. "You should take your diorama and put it in your room," he says. It's a suggestion and a plea and he wonders why he doesn't simply make it an order instead, but that would probably make her feel thrown out even more than she might feel right now. But he's got a sudden, egoistic impulse of wanting to be all alone, and no empathy to spare for the world around him, not even her.

Thankfully, she's not debating his suggestion, only picks up her gift and leaves. Locking the door behind her, he gets the lube out of his closet and starts jerking off, his usual action of choice to get himself in a better mood. He wants to make it hard and fast, but instead he ends with too many sappy memories, mingling with new, alluring but pointless fantasies. At last he gives up and falls asleep with the lights on and the diorama on his nightstand, a taunting illusion of everything he wants.

*

Over the next days, Pike skips more meals, withdrawing as much as the institution allows him to. Which is far less than he could at home – to which he badly wants to return by now. He wants a door to close behind him, he wants to go out and have some sex just for sex's sake before he gets any more hung up, he wants to eat when and what he wants, and he wants to bury himself in his work without people telling him to attend therapy sessions and group meetings and _whatthefuck_. He's definitely reaching the end of his rope, and he's making it fucking clear for everyone.

It earns Pike a discharge date in four days, and all he does is wait for them to pass. It's two days before that desired moment when he receives another old-fashioned card with a hand-writing he doesn't recognize. It takes one hour of internal debate before he opens it sitting on his bed, feeling like letting another Trojan horse into his life.

It's a photograph of him and Dael in profile view. It must have been shot during one of their Holo Squash games, and they're holding hands, probably because she helped him up from the floor once more. His head is a little turned away but he seems to smile, and she definitely _does_ smile, her features lit up - and her shining gaze all rests on him, the expression unmistakable.

Pike swallows and turns the photograph to read the note on its back, short sentences in the same sharp handwriting as on the envelope.

_I came to visit you but you were occupied and I didn't want to intrude._

_Haven't seen you smile like that in 30-odd years._

_Doubt that she's been smiling a lot either in the last five._

_Don't fuck it up, Chris._

_J._

Pike heavily puts the picture down on his upper thigh, closing his eyes. He rubs his free hand over his lower lip, mind blank for a second. There's a tight spot in his guts, protectively coiled and pulsing.

He wants her so badly, there aren't even words for it. He's in love with her and he's known this for a while now but he's been absolutely decided to never act on it.

He could live with the situation because he kept telling himself that she's not in the same position, that she couldn't possibly want a man so much her senior and dealing with a whole lot of health shit that might leave him permanently disabled.

Seeing this picture, he knows he's been lying to himself, because it had been the safest option.

The door opens with only a brief signal as forewarning, and he's annoyed for a second before he recognizes the woman. It's one of the oldest psychiatrists of the team, Doctor Will. She's assigned neither to him nor Dael, but he's often talked to her over the last weeks, possibly about more personal things than to his official psychiatrist whose reports would be bound to end in Starfleet Medical.

Maybe Will is exactly the person to he needs now.

Without words, he offers her the picture. She takes it, looking first at the shot, then reading the note.

"And?" She smiles.

Pike shakes his head, his mind boggling. "You can't possibly think that this is a good thing."

"Do you honestly think that she'd stay here in this institution if the staff didn't agree it would be her best option?"

"The institution, not me."

"Being here with you."

He drops his head, massaging his forehead with his fingertips. "It's… it wouldn't work. She should have a relationship with someone her age, not some strange therapeutic thing with me."

"Can't say many of the staff wouldn't agree to that. The two of you have become quite a topic in our breaks." Doctor Will sits down next to him on the bed. "In my opinion, the secret of good relationships is that there are two people with compatible weaknesses, so that both can heal each other."

"Not a very romantic take on it," he replies with a shaky laugh.

"Your secret is that you know and accept each other's weaknesses. You know about her traumas, she knows about yours. You both know the energy and effort that each of you needs to get over the past, and you acknowledge that in each other. You're careful with each other but you don't overprotect either."

"She sees me as a kind of safe haven."

"No doubt."

"But she shouldn't need that. I want her not to need me, doctor."

"Maybe one day, she doesn't need you anymore, and you'll part because that's what might happen in relationships – people develop into different directions," Will agreed. "But right now, you're her anchor. It's been almost six years since the Narada incident. People could demand that you should've overcome the past by now and that it shouldn't influence your life anymore. But the truth is that some things stay with us forever, and they will always be painful and depressing. We'll live with them but we can't forget them. As far as I can see, she's your antidote to that past. She's become your anchor as well. It could be unhealthy, but it isn't because it's symmetrical. You complement each other."

Will laughs a little. "Many of my younger colleagues would shake their heads about hearing me say something like that, but I've been around for too long to just follow the book, and you'd definitely not be the strangest yet functional couple I've seen in my life."

It's the sudden hope he deals with surprisingly bad; the idea that this might indeed _work_ is so monumental and still so wrong that it leaves him fighting for air. Grasping for straws, he says, "It's complicated. I'm in an unusual relationship..."

"Everyone knows that, and it didn't seem to keep her away from you, did it?"

He rubs over his mouth with his whole hand, thinking of her crate and _Jim_ and how she somehow already has become a part of his relationship. Thinks about how the doc might react upon the news (and everyone else for the matter) but all concerns diminish when he thinks of Dael. How each moment with her has become something he craves and needs, and how many more beautiful moments they might have together if only -

"Oh, what the hell." With a curse he rolls to the other side of the bed and gets up with trembling legs, unable to live with his inner emotional turmoil for another second. He's not a sixteen-year-old, by God, and he'll deal with this as an adult.

He wants the doctor to say something, to fill the deafening silence that suddenly drowns the room, but she is only looking at him with a measured and vaguely sympathetic gaze. He turns to stare out of the window, and why does Dael of all people have to stand in the middle of the garden and dance with some of the other kids, her anorexic body shaking like a willow in a storm.

He doesn't want to be her crutch because one day she'll walk without that crutch and then he'd be the one left behind once more.

"Talk to her. That's the only recommendation I can give," Will says behind his back. "See you in two days for the discharge… or whenever you need to talk."

Pike barely hears the door closing, his eyes still fixed on the girl in the middle of the dance round.

*

He's flat on his back and looking at the stars. The projected stars, to be more precise, donned against the hemispheric ceiling of the small observatory of which Pike is a frequent visitor, once donated by some other admiral. Most of the stars he knows by heart, whispering their names one by one into the quiet of the hall. There's something soothing and meditative about it. He remembers how he told Jim about staying up late in the astrophysics lab on his first ship tour, and decides to look at the stars more often again.

The name of the next star dies on his lips as the door opens. Cautious steps draw closer, stopping next to him. He shifts his gaze to see spiky hair stabbing into the artificial night sky. "Care to join me for stargazing?" he asks, and she lies down next to him on the hard floor.

"Which sky is it?" she asks after a while.

"It's been the sky above Vulcan," he answers.

"It always comes back to that for you, doesn't it?" she says, some indefinable emotion swinging in her words.

He pushes a button on the remote and waits.

"That's---"

"The sky above Khal'kohachi. I had to extrapolate a little, but it should be mostly correct." He gives her a moment in case she wants to say something, then adds, "I've created it over the last weeks. I'm not sure why… or maybe I am, but I don't trust myself anymore when it comes to you."

The silence is deep, like being swallowed by the depths of the ocean, so deep down that there's eternal night, eternal quiet, everything still.

Her hand finds his, and he draws a shaky breath.

"I trust you… sir."

"It's Christopher." He actually liked to hear his unabridged first name before _all that_ and he's determined to claim it back.

"Christopher," she says. "Christopher." It never sounded sweeter.

He clutches her hand, then huffs a sad laugh. "If I could, I'd roll over and kiss you. But I've walked all the goddamn five hundred and eleven stairs up to this place just to have more time to think, and I can't move a muscle to save my life."

There's a brief silence before she suddenly laughs, no, _giggles_, a sound he'd never have expected from her. Then she's the one to roll over him, placing one palm on his face. Her head is dark against the stars – everything is so dark, and he's on his back, immobile and sore, but he couldn't care less because she kisses him, sweet, small lips on his, and he wants to melt for joy.

"And there people keep telling me you're too old for me," she whispers as she releases him. "Sometimes I think you're the silliest person I ever met."

"That's only because I want to make you smile," he replies, realizing that it's the complete truth. With baited breath, he holds her in his arms, still not totally sure that this isn't some kind of dream.

"You succeed." She strokes his lower lip with one slim fingertip. "Christopher. You silly, wonderful man."

He captures her finger, sucking it into his mouth. He's hard, so hard for her, _a woman_, and there's a fleeting moment of concern whether his erection will falter once they're really doing it. But this is Dael and she's one of a kind, queer and alien and defying definition.

"Want you so much. For so long…" He isn't sure if it's him or her speaking, their whispered words flowing together between kisses and touches and the sound of their joined breathing.

_There'll be a lot to deal with come morning_, is his last straight thought before her cool fingers slip under his shirt, _but together, we'll make it through everything_.


End file.
